i WiW^y!: 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelf ...X^..^"P6 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



BY 



/ 



EDITH WILLIS LINN 










BUFFALO 

CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 

1892 






Copyright, 1892, 
By EDITH WILLIS LINN. 



Printed by C. W. Moulton, Buffalo, N. Y. 



DEDICATION. 

"fO those dear ones whose self-sacrifice and devotion 
have made me what I am; and to hint whose love in 
these later years has become my highest inspiration. 



CONTENTS. 

Poems. 

PAGE 

Sweet Peas i 

The Cloud 2 

On the AcropoHs 3 

Conscious Power 5 

My Sailor Boy 6 

Soul-Joy 9 

Thistle-Down 9 

The Dried Brook 10 

Hidden Purposes 11 

Odessa 13 

Birthdays 14 

Littleness 15 

Early Morning in a Vineyard 16 

Two Loves 17 

The Lost Atlantis 19 

Transient Joys 20 

West-Wind 21 

Go Labor, Watch and Pray 22 

Buttercup and Daisy 25 

God's Own 27 

The Organist 28 

Truant Tears 29 

In Granada Long Ago 30 

New Year's Eve 32 

Night- Blooming Cereus 33 

From Home 34 

Reimbursement 34 

Glimpses 35 

Shadows 36 

Babies' Eyes 37 



vi Contents. 

PAGE 

Patience 38 

Consummation 39 

In Prison 40 

A Canary 41 

The Angel of the Annunciation 42 

Home 43 

An Old Vinaigrette 44 

Whence and Whither 46 

The Brook 47 

A Prayer 48 

A Windy Day 49 

Song of the Chain 50 

Nameless 52 

Carrier Pigeon 53 

A Tapestry Picture 54 

Balder the Beautiful 55 

Garden of Cluny 56 

Real Worth 58 

Gain 59 

My Infant Son 60 

The Rosicrucian's Lamp 62 

Behind 63 

A Landscape in Oils 64 

The Grape- Vine Bloom 65 

Slumber Song 66 

The Knight and the Maid 67 

Infants' Tears 68 

The True Self 69 

When You are Far 70 

Hymn 71 

Contoocook River 72 

Dead Pain 74 

A Dream 75 

Death 76 



Contents. vii 

PAGE 

Song 77 

Garnered Sheaves 78 

Two Songs 79 

The Morning Glory 80 

Wandering Willie 81 

Longing 84 

Lohengrin 85 

Then and Now 86 

Dissatisfied 87 

Earth's True Music 88 

Joy 89 

Discontent 90 

The Little Deed 91 

Husband of Wife 92 

Wife of Husband 93 

Primroses 94 

The Nest 95 

Songs from the Deeps 96 

The Old Bugle 97 

In April 98 

Dead Years 99 

Bluebird 100 

Day loi 

God All in All 102 

Baby's Eyes 103 

Psyche 104 

Kinship 105 

An Old Sword 106 

A New Hampshire Pond 108 

Harmony no 

Song-Gift Ill 

To the Straw in a Horse-Car 113 

Unborn 114 

The Golden Age 115 



viii Contents. 



Sonnets. 

PAGE 

Immortality . 119 

The Life Line 120 

Worldliness 121 

The Coming of Love 122 

Bravery 123 

Autumn 124 

The Stronger Love 125 

In the Sandwich Burying-Ground 126 

In Port 127 

Pussy-Willow 128 

Waiting 129 

Helen of Troy 130 

The Wandering Minstrel 131 

A May Evening 132 

The Illumined Page 133 

Spoken Love 134 

A Bas-Relief 135 

November 136 

Love and Absence 137 

A Cautious Hand 138 

Life's Gold 139 

A Wish 140 

Hero , 141 

Dawn 142 

A Mission 143 

The Evening Star 144 

Love's Images 145 

Rescued -. 146 

Beyond 147 

Cicero's Dream 148 

Since You Came 149 



Contents. ix 

PAGE 

A Rejected Lover's Thought 150 

Memory 151 

Early Poems. 

The Snow 155 

Soaring Bird 156 

Solace in Death 157 

June's Secret 159 

At North Conway 161 

Lost June 162 

To My Sister in Heaven 164 

May 165 



POEMS. 



SWEET PEAS. 

ROSE of the sunset sky, 
Caught from its glowing; 
Pink that the fair sea-shell's 
Edges are showing; 

Blue of the summer sky, 
Where clouds are lying; 

Purple of spreading seas, 
Where ships are flying; 

Red of the robin's breast, 
When spring is calling; 

White of the crystal snow 
In winter falling; 

All these and more are yours, 

Beautiful flowers, 
Tints of the rainbow gay, 

Stolen from showers. 

Sweets of a hundred blooms, 
Gay bees have wrought you; 

Perfume of southern lands, 
Breezes have brought you. 



The Cloud. 

Shaped like a butterfly, 

Light as a fairy, 
Poised on a slender stem, 

Graceful and airy; 

Ah! you have made your own, 

All that is rarest, 
And of all flowers that bloom, 

Yours are the fairest. 



THE CLOUD. 

A LITTLE cloud passed slowly overhead. 
Like a white butterfly that stayed its flight 
Above a bed of larkspur flowers, — then spread 
Its gleaming wings, and drifted out of sight. 



071 the Acropolis. 



ON THE ACROPOLIS. 

I STOOD 'mid Athens' ruined pride 
Upon her mighty templed hill, 
And saw the beauties far and wide 

Of purple mount and harbor still, 
Of grazing sheep and flowery sod 

And winding roads the great have trod 

The sunlight bathed Hymettus' crest, 
Fair smiling valleys stretched below; 

The very breezes from the west 
Brought me some tale of long ago, 

From Salamis across the bay 
Along the cactus-bordered way. 

Grand arches! through which used to come 
The virgin train with downcast eyes 

Leading from some fair hill-side home 
The flower-decked bull of sacrifice; 

With flowing robes and tramp of feet, 
And sound of music low and sweet. 

Where once the blood flowed red and free 
Upon the altar of the god, 



On the Acropolis. 

I picked a flower dear to me, 
A flower of New England sod 

A dandelion bright as gold, 

Grown from those ruins fair and old. 

Bright as the fillets were that bound 
The midnight hair of Athens' maids; 

Strong as the love of gods that found 
Worship in arch and colonnades, 

And like the ones that blossom gay 
Beside my^door-sill^far away. 

The old and new you seemed to bind. 
Gay flower, with the yellow hair. 

We often travel far to find 

The home-like beauties grow more fair: 

To learn that nature is the same 
Whatever land we choose to name 

That human hearts and lives and ends 
Own the same purpose year by year; 

Dreams, hopes, the good that still contends 
With evil, prayer and doubt and fear. 

Still thrill the heart and fire the brain, 
Through lives of kindred joy and pain. 

My soul bowed low to heed the sign 
Upon that templed hill of old; 



Conscious Power. 

That ancient altar was the shrine; 

The priestess was that flower of gold; 
Praying to God of earth and skies: — 

A living heart was sacrifice. 



CONSCIOUS POWER. 

NEVER can a man aspire 
To a deed I would not dare; 
Never saint or priest rise higher 
Than the soarings of my prayer. 

Did there fail a hero ever 

Whose lost day I might not win ? 
To all souls of high endeavor 

I have felt my own akin. 

All because great God hath given 
Boundless strength to do, to be; 

Here on earth I compass Heaven; 
I in Him, and He in me. 



My Sailor Boy. 



MY SAILOR BOY. 

'* nPELL me sailor, sailing northward 

1 To the land of ice and snow, 
Where the mighty iceberg towers 

And the midnight suns crouch low; 
Tell me did you meet a ship 

Decked with flags and banners gay, 
While upon the prow there stood 

Singing, as he sailed away, 
Songs of gladness and of joy. 
My bright, happy sailor boy ? ' ' 

And the sailor, dim of eye, 

Weak with famine and with pain, 
Answered: ** Yes, in northern seas 

Met we such a ship; in vain 
Were our signals. On the prow 

Dashed the ocean's icy spray. 
Little cared the sailor boy. 

Singing, as he sailed away, 
Songs of gladness and of joy, 
Merry, buoyant, sailor boy! " 

Tell me sailor, sailing southward. 

Where the palm and date-trees grow, 



My Sailor Boy. 

And the air is sweet with flowers 

And gay birds fly to and fro; 
Tell me did you meet a ship 

Decked with streamers bright and gay, 
While upon the prow there stood, 

Singing, as he sailed away, 
Songs of gladness and of joy, 
My bright, happy, sailor boy ? 

And the sailor, bronzed and burnt 

By the southern sun and breeze. 
Answered: ** Yes, when we were calmed 

In the burning southern seas, 
Sails full set and flags unfurled. 

Steering northward, such a bark 
Passed us, and upon its prow. 

Singing gaily as a lark 
Songs of happiness and joy. 
The bright, jocund, sailor boy." 

Of the sailors sailing eastward, 

Of the sailors sailing west. 
Still I ask the self-same question; 

Comes the answer to my quest: 
• * Yes, we saw the ship so fair, 

With its flags and streamers gay. 
And upon the wave-washed prow, 

Singing, as he sailed away. 



My Sailor Boy. 

Songs of gladness and of joy, 
The bright, happy, sailor boy." 

Just when I begin to know 

Fears and sorrow and despair 
Some stanch sailor of the seas 

Tells me of my vessel fair; 
Then I hope and watch again. 

O'er the blue foam-feathered bay, 
For my ship that long ago 

Sailed into the far away. 
And my merry sailor boy 
Singing reckless songs of joy. 

What the song my sailor sings ? 

You who know how hopes depart. 
You who know how strives the soul, 

Know how weary grows the heart, 
Know how saddened grows the eye; 

You who hear the echoed strain 
Of a far-off, purer life. 

Borne above earth's wail of pain — 
You have met my sailor boy 
Singing songs of deathless joy. 



Soul- Joy — Thistle- Down. 



SOUL-JOY. 

THERE is a joy that by the coffin's lid 
With lifted eyes exultingly may stand; 
That may not be downtrodden by a sneer; 
That sings though danger lurk on every hand. 

There is a joy that smiles at cruel words, 

Dies not though human love may prove untrue, 

And over fallen hopes and lost ideals 
Doth still its way triumphandy pursue. 

A joy no other life can give or take 

Is ours, though men may scoff or curse or frown. 
If we can link our hand in God's right hand, 

And smile the changes of the great world down. 



THISTLE-DOWN. 

THY trembling flight through evening' s purple air, 
Fair thisde-down all shining silvery white, 
Seems like man's fitful way from here to There; — 
An aimless, wavering and mysterious flight. 



lo The Dried Brook. 



THE DRIED BROOK. 

SEE where this little brook has all run dry! 
Here the bright pebbles that were rose and green 
And blue, beneath its flowing, turned to gray, 
Its moss-grown boulders nowhere to be seen. 

The flowers that once were glad to see their face 
Within its tranquil places are no more. 

Where are the little flashing, watery lives 

That made their merry home along its shore ? 

The birds here came to bathe their tired wings, 
And cool their thirsty throats; to sing, and chase 

Each other in the cool tranquillity, 

Where heat and silence now have dwelling-place. 

Its song is hushed; its busy, babbling voice 

Leads wandering feet no more to seek its brink ; 

Those only who have loved it come again 

To dream the dreams that past and present link. 

My heart is like this little brook run dry. 

Shall old-time beauty find its dear retreat ? 
O brook ! O heart ! shall we yet hasten on 

Towards the open sea with joyous feet ? 



Hidden Purposes. ii 



HIDDEN PURPOSES. 

ALL man may think, may suffer, may endure, 
Is part of a great work he cannot see: 
Not wholly mine nor useless any pain; 
The joy I feel is not alone for me. 
The constant washing of the fretful sea 
Wears to round pebbles, smooth as maiden's hands, 
The rough, sharp-cornered stones; in answer they 
Give to the ocean, shining, yellow sands 
That children play in, all the summer day. 

The speck washed in between the oyster's shell, 
In hidden torment, grew to be the pearl 
That decked a princess on her wedding-day. 
The birds sing for themselves, their wings unfurl; 
They fly away, in summer airs to whirl. 
Under warm skies to nest; my joyous heart 
Answers their song, and sorrows when they go. 
How I have watched as southward they depart, 
How wait their coming, they can never know. 

The flower that springs above the darksome soil 
And fills with perfume sweet the summer day. 
Grows for its own delight; it cannot dream 



ti Hidden Purposes. 

How it can teach my doubting heart to pray; 
How thrill into my soul, and lift away 
The gloom that all too often finds a rest. 
Yon little child that sings for very glee, 
Knows not her song has found within my breast 
An answer that shall never silenced be. 

The silk-worm blindly weaves about his life 

A golden thread, and dies to give us gain: 

His end accomplished, and a larger good, 

Arising from his labor and his pain. 

We never question if they toil in vain 

Who dig and delve that we may reap some power. 

What knows the miner in his living tomb 

Of us for whom he labors hour by hour ? 

Just his own good he seeks amid the gloom. 

And yet these lives are linked so close to ours! 
We cannot shed a tear or breathe a prayer, 
Or sing a song, but earth is somehow changed ; 
Hearts with joy lightened, or oppressed with care. 
As westward on life's journey we repair 
It is enough to know that not in vain 
Our life is lived; we do not need to feel 
What is the glory, how the use, the gain : 
God may to other lives all this reveal. 



Odessa. 13 



ODESSA. 

RADIANT, beautiful Odessa! 
Lying by the black- waved sea; 
Mountain-crowned, wave-washed, white-towered, 

Queen of grace and majesty. 
With broad plaza, sun-kissed terrace, 
Costumes quaintly shaped and gay, 
Flags of every clime and nation 
Floating o'er thy purple bay. 

Sunshine ever doth enfold thee; 

Flowers and fields of billowy grain 
Lie around thee; birds are joyous 

On thy upland and thy plain; 
From thy port bedecked with banners 

Whence my white-winged boat departs. 
See! an exile ship is steering 

With its freight of broken hearts. 

Radiant, beautiful Odessa! 

Richelieu's glory, love, and pride, 
Wooed by breaths of balmy southland, 

Touched by loving foam-kissed tide. 



14 Birthdays, 

But a despot's hand is on thee, 

Though thy sons may wish thee free; 

Tear-stained, queenly, bright Odessa, 
Lying by the black-waved sea! 



BIRTHDAYS. 

ANOTHER birthday! Like a nun that tells 
Her beads within the convent's narrow cells 
My soul takes heed. Not those dull beads she loves, 
Although she cons them with such eager eyes; 
It is because they bear her soul above 
And aid the yearning spirit to arise. 

And so I feel the years that come and go, 
Lift me to larger life and nobler deed ; 
And that is why I count my birthdays so 
And do not sorrow as the fleet years speed; 
Each one a blessing, like the meek nun's prayers 
Told on the sacred rosary she wears. 



Littleness. 15 



LITTLENESS. 

WHAT am I in this wide, wide world ? 
Only one drop in the swinging sea, 
Only one leaf on the swaying tree. 
Only one human life. 

Only one star in the midnight sky, 
Only one drop on life's open flower, 
Only one sand from the falling hour. 
Only one human life. 

Only one word on life's written scroll, 
Only one thought of the Mind above. 
Only one work of infinite love, 
Only one human life. 

Only one note in life's wondrous chord, 
Only one sound in life's ceaseless roar, 
Only one wave on the beaten shore, 
Only one human life. 

Only one mind that shall never die, 
Only one speck in the infinite space, 
Only one soul that has sought God's face. 
Only one human Hfe. 



1 6 Early Morning in a Vineyard. 



EARLY MORNING IN A VINEYARD. 

THE clustered, purple, luscious fruit 
Shall not a tribute song awake; 
Come chant the praise of verdant vine 
Where dainty tendrils curl and twine, 
A song for very greenness' sake. 

Ere on the vineyard's trellised rows 
The early morning dews have dried, 

The merry birds begin to sing; 

The butterfly puts forth his wing; 

The bee the wild-rose bloom has tried. 

The tiny weeds their dainty heads 
Toward the spotless blue uplift, 
And myriad swarming, flitting things 
Spread in the sun their gauzy wings, 
Or on the soft breeze float and drift. 

Though peace is there like that we feel 

In dim, cool, holy aisles of prayer, 
No thing is still. The vine's soft sway 
Makes moving shadows on the way; 
Motion and action everywhere. 



Two Loves. 17 

Let those whose souls are knit with pain 
In this fresh morning beauty stand; 

Better than scroll and book and creed 

The lesson of the lowliest weed, 

The sense that God is close at hand. 

Whatever joy of clustered fruit 

The autumn's richest gift may be, 
The vineyard on a summer morn 
Holds grace that puts it all to scorn, — 
The summer's very soul set free. 



TWO LOVES. 

AS the sun in summer stoops to kiss the rose, 
Till the opening petals heart of gold disclose; 
As the dew of evening rests upon a flower; 
As the rain in summer falls in fragrant shower; 
As the stars in heaven, when the breezes rest, 
Stoop to lie in beauty on the ocean's breast; 
As the west wind lightly sweeps the forest trees 
Till they sing and murmur leafy melodies; 
As the bright moon reigning in her strength and 

pride. 
Draws the mighty ocean in a ceaseless tide; 
c 



i§ Two Loves. 

As the rainbow arches over summer sea, 

As the moonHght falleth; — so thy love for me. 

As the rose that waited for the sun to rise 

Ere the petals opened to the morning skies; 

As the flowers of evening when the air is still, 

Underneath the darkness, richest scents distill; 

As the ocean mirrors all the stars at night, 

Or reflects the rainbow's seven-tinted light; 

As the pine tree answers to the wind's caress, 

Singing, ever singing, songs of tenderness; 

As the ocean heaveth from its caves below, 

By the bright moon's power drawn to ebb and flow; 

As the face of nature, plain and hill and sea, 

Looketh up to heaven; — so my love for thee. 



The Lost Atlantis. 19 



THE LOST ATLANTIS. 

FAIR Atlantis, peerless country, 
Lulled within the ocean's arms, 
Lying beautiful and shining 

Far beneath the storm's alarms; 
Never war or plague came near thee; 

In thy halls were love and ease; 
Now above thee, lost Atlantis, 
Roll the ever restless seas. 

In those histories, half tradition. 

With their mythic thread of gold. 
We shall find the name and story 

Of thy cities fair and old. 
Dreaming bard has told the fancy. 

Wandering minstrel sung of thee; 
Now above thee, lost Atiantis, 

Rolls the ever restless sea. 

Every heart has such a country. 
Some Atlantis loved and lost; 

Where upon the gleaming sand-bars 
Once life's fitful ocean tost. 



20 Transient Joys. 

Mighty cities rose in splendor; 

Love was monarch of that cHme; 
Now above this lost Atlantis 

Roll the restless seas of Time. 

Happy he who looking backward, 

From a life of larger scope, 
Deems a youthful, idle fancy. 

His lost continent of hope. 
Or by light of love and gladness 

Finds the present hour sublime, - 
Glad that over his Atlantis 

Roll the restless seas of Time. 



TRANSIENT JOYS. 

THE lake is diamond-decked by beams of morn 
And scintillant, each ripple's rounding crest; 
Joys thus in momentary beauty rest, — 

Then flee the heart that others may be born. 



Wes^- Wind. 



21 



WEST-WIND. 

A WONDERFUL wind blows up from the west, 
The soft, sweet wind of spring; 
It ruffles the red on the robin's breast, 

It makes the oriole sing; 
And wide on its path the cherry-trees 
Their pearly petals fling. 

From the land of bloom the gay wind comes, 

The land of love and light; 
It kisses the apple-tree till it blooms 

In banks of pink and white; 
It whispers unto the columbine 

Till it trembles with delight. 

The early flowers the summons hear; 

The tiniest gnat takes wing; 
Gay birds on blooming shrubs appear 

And tune their throats to sing; 
And not a heart but owns thy charm, 

Oh, wanton wind of spring! 



22 Go Labor, Watch and Pray. 



GO LABOR, WATCH AND PRAY. 

ONE day I walked upon the stony beach, 
And in a Hstless meditative mood 
I heard the song of merry, merry birds, 
And distant music of the rippling stream 
That hastened through the valley to the sea. 
The sun shone down on fragrant, budding flowers, 
And blooming grasses, bending in the breeze; 
On opening daisies and the gleaming gold 
Of buttercups, the white of crowfoot flowers 
And blackberry vines, that glimmered in the sun. 

The messages of nature touched my heart; 
And from the far unknown, whose tranquil space 
Is sounded only by the loftiest thoughts. 
Or wildest fancies of the youthful brain, 
I heard a voice that like a summons came. 

* ' Arise and work ! Lift up the screen of self 
That shuts thee from the truer, better life, 
And step beyond the portals of sweet rest 
Into the foremost struggles of to-day. 
The world with all it holds for thee and thine 
Is not for thee alone or thy sweet will, 



Go Labor, Watch and Pray. 23 

But thou art for the world and for its work: 
Arise and do! thy hand, though only frail, 
And, weak thy woman nature, may uplift 
Some stronger nature to a higher plane. 
And through its labor may the world be blest. 

And in the fullness of my heart I said: 

" I will arise! Oh, show me noble deeds! 

Oh, give me strength to fight the valiant fight! 

Oh, lead me to the ranks, and place my hand 

Upon the wheel of life, and let me guide! 

Oh, let me lead men's hearts to better things! 

Oh, let me raise depraved humanity. 

And teach the people of a purer life! 

Oh, lead me forth to labor, strive and win; 

To fame, to honor, glory, lead me on ! " 

And yet again those words that thrilled my soul: 

'* Arise and work; go labor, watch and pray." 

"O, Lord," I cried, ''have pity, I am blind! 
No noble action needs my weaker will, 
No valiant deed is mine to do or dare! " 

And then I heard that wondrous voice again: 
" O timid, foolish heart! thy lot in Hfe 
May never lead to glory, honor, fame; 
The world may never need heroic deeds 
Such as thou dream' st of, yet from day to day 
Thy duty waits thee; and make this thy prayer: 



24 Go Labor, Watch and Pray. 

Each day to gain the knowledge of to-day; 
Each day to do the duty of to-day; 
Each moment to increase some mortal's joy, 
Or to relieve some weary watcher's pain." 

Then kneeling there closer to nature's heart, 

In hush and silence and alone with God, 

I felt the beating of the universe. 

And the dull, heavy, throb, throb, throb, 

Of countless hearts that broke beneath their load. 

Then kneeling there, I whispered: '* I obey; 

Lord, where Thou leadest, I will follow Thee! 

Yea, even though before me lies the path 

Through valleys dark with damp night-dews of sin: 

Lead on, lead on: O world, I long for thee! 

I long to clasp the hand of human life, 

And creeping closer to the heart of things 

Live hand in hand with sorrow and the world. 

No man so low but he is brother-man; 

No life so poor, but it may name me friend. 

Lead on, lead on! I wait the summons now. 

Better to struggle hand to hand with them, 

The toilers, than to lie beneath the flowers, 

And dream this life away." 

And then again 
Around me sounded in the evening air. 
The words that gave me courage, hope and strength: 
*' Arise! Go forth to labor, watch and pray! " 



Buttercup and Daisy. 25 



BUTTERCUP AND DAISY. 

THE Daisy wooed the Buttercup, 
Long, long ago; 
And now he wears her colors gay 

Upon his shield of snow. 
True to her love the Daisy is 
Wherever he may go. 

Fair Buttercup, a royal maid 

Of high degree, 
Lived with her father, lord of all 

The lovely broad countrie 
That reaches from the mountain top 

Of Nowhere to the sea. 

Now Daisy was of lowly birth 

But strong and fair. 
And bolder knight there never lived 

All noble deeds to dare; 
He wooed and won the royal maid 

Ere the father was aware. 

And when the old king found it out 
An oath he swore, 



26 Buttercup and Daisy. 

That if his daughter loved the knight 
She was his child no more, 

And with her low-born lover might 
Go from the castle door. 

Sweet Buttercup was true of heart 

And loved so well, 
She rather chose to rove with him 

Than as a princess dwell; 
And so she followed where he led 

Through field, and wood and dell. 

And that is why in summer-time, 

Hand locked in hand, 
They wander through our road-side fields 

And o'er our pasture-land, 
Telling their tale of love and trust 

To all who understand. 



God's Own. 27 



GOD'S OWN. 

GOD lends us the birds and the babies 
And the beautiful brilliant flowers; 
We think in our pride of selfhood 
The wonderful things are ours. 

But lo! when the summer is over 
The bird to its southern home flies, 

And the flowers are gone from the meadow 
Where once they delighted our eyes. 

And the babies, too, have departed; 

Alas! for our hurrying tears, 
Some over the gloomy river. 

Some into the grown-up years. 

The birds will return in the springtime 
When flowers bespangle the sod; 

But the babies, the blessed babies. 
We have given them back to God. 



28 The Organist. 



THE ORGANIST. 

THE organist sits at the key-board, 
His hands glide to and fro, 
BHndly he strikes the pedals 

Hidden in gloom below; 
Silent the keys he touches; 

But far above the air 
Breathes through the pipes in music, 
A hymn of praise or prayer. 

So in this life men labor 

In darkness, doubt and pain; 
Dumb are the keys before them, 

But far above, a strain 
Of sweet and holy music 

May break upon the ear, 
To lift some soul from sorrow, 

To ease some heart of fear. 

God only asks that we labor 
On life's key-board day by day; 

We shrink at many a discord, 
Discouraged, cease to pray; 



Truant Tears. 29 

But sure as we work in earnest, 

With the duties that lie below, 
Though silent the keys we finger. 

Somewhere the song will flow. 



TRUANT TEARS. 

TEARS, truant tears, that flow and flow 
From neither life's great joy nor pain, 
That rise at sight of sunset glow, 
Or arch of summer rain. 

A tattered flag, a summer rose, 

Pure, noble thoughts, unselfish fears, 

Low music heard at evening's close. 
Have power to bring these tears. 

Fair, ruined Athens bade them fall, 

And Rome's campagna saw them shine; 

The tales of old-time field and hall 
Have brought these drops divine. 

To all fair things beneath the sky. 
To all above it, we are kin; ^ 

Such tears but prove that souls are high, 
And show us God within. 



30 In Granada Long Ago. 



IN GRANADA LONG AGO, 

OVER Spain the sun was rising, 
Lighting up the soldier's steel; 
Polished helmets flashed and glittered; 
Plumed of head and spurred of heel 
Were the warriors who were riding 
To reduce the daring foe 
That had struck at proud Granada, long ago. 

At a mother's side was kneehng 

With hands folded on his breast, 

A young boy whose face was shadowed 

By a longing and unrest. 

In his hands he clasped a prayer-book. 

In his face was feeling's glow. 

As the sun rose on Granada, long ago. 

" Mother, " and his voice grew eager, 

" Is it right to wound and slay ? 

Does not Christ the Master tell us 

To forgive and love alway ? ' ' 

Sweet the spicy winds were breathing, 

Soft the river Jenil's flow 

By the city of Granada, long ago. 



In Granada Long Ago. 51 

* * But my son, ' ' the mother answered, 

With her dark eyes full of pain, 

' ' These are enemies of Jesus 

Who would strike the Church through Spain." 

"Why not try Christ's way? " he answered, 

With a voice perplexed and low; 

In the city of Granada, long ago ? 

Why not try Christ' s way? Oh, wisdom 
That the ages will not own! 
Earth has never followed after 
In the path that Christ has shown. 
Still men wield the feebler power 
Of the curses and the blow, 
As they did in old Granada, long ago. 

What became of him who questioned 

As the swift- winged years passed o' er ? — 

Was he gentle priest and teacher, 

Love's disciple evermore? 

Only silence for an answer; 

Histories have no name to show 

For that boy of fair Granada, long ago. 

Did he learn more worldly wisdom 
Than the books of prayer contain. 
And become a valiant warrior 
Fighting for the Church and Spain ? 



32 New Year' s Eve. 

Once, alas! we all were like him, 
Trusting, ere he learned to know. 
In the city of Granada, long ago. 



NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

IT fades, the year so briefly ours; 
It passes like a sweet song sung, 
Like cadences of bells outrung 
From far-off towers. 

So real we found each passing day! 

So full of hopes and joys and fears! 
Their memories echo down the years, 

Then die away. 

And this is Hfe! Alas, how sad! 

So fleet, so restless, yet for me, 
Safe in thy love's eternity, 

So grand, so glad! 



Night- Blooming Cereus. 33 



NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS* 

BRIDE of the Night, clad in such fitting robes! 
What is there in his silent, sombre mien 
To win thee from the love of royal Day ? 

Waxing and waning with his darkness, queen 
Fit for the palace Helios rules on high. 

But smiling only when the silver moon 
Ushers in Night and his attendant stars! 

Such bloom as thine seems meet for tropic Noon, 
Instead of Midnight's passionless repose. 

What hast thou found in Nature's common soil 
— Whence blooms the sunflower, ever yellow- 
rayed — 
To make thee different from all others ? spoil 
Worthy the bee, but by his appetite 
Unsullied — pure to be the Bride of Night. 



* Charlotte Fiske Bates has a quatrain containing the same idea. 
I believe mine, however, to be unborrowed. 



34 Fro7n Home. — Reimbursement. 



FROM HOME. 

ON dreamy seas afar I drifted 
And longed at home to see 
The mists that round my mountains floated 
In grace and majesty. 

Oh! fair the bays and isles of Illus, 

And blue the southern sea, 
But cot and cradle-care are better 

With home, my child, and thee. 



REIMBURSEMENT. 

DROP from me pain, forevermore be dumb! 
My soul is centre of the universe: 
All goods are hers, though ages go and come, 
. God doth for her all glories reimburse. 



Glimpses. 35 



GLIMPSES. 

LOW whispers heard through half-shut doors; 
Music from organs out of sight, 
Flooding the arches of the soul 

When it is dark and lonely as the night: 
Gray, glinting mists that wreathe and twine, 

Then, rent away, reveal the snow-capped height; 

Shadows that fall upon the page 

And make us raise an eager eye; 
A gentle hand upon the brow; 

A gentle step when no one passes by; 
The sense of some one near and dear 

That gives you smile for smile and sigh for sigh. 

All lives have known such mysteries: — 
Some fine, clear vision, when the heart 

Looks quickly to the after life, 

As we would scan some mariner's strange chart, 

Whereon are graven lines to show 

New water-courses where our ships depart. 



36 Shadows. 



SHADOWS. 

THERE are shadows on the wall; 
How they dance! now rise, now fall; 
And they hold a wealth of pictures in their grim, 

gigantic palms. 
Scenes from life's great storms and calms. 

They are glancing to and fro, 

All above me and below; 

And they seem old friends of childhood that have 

seen my sweetest days. 
Known my Aprils and my Mays. 

In the sunniest days of June 

When I heard the mock-bird's tune, 

The blue sky was not so cloudless but below me on 

the grass 
I beheld the shadows pass: 

Or a bird upon the wing 

Fluttered and forgot to sing, 

And below his shadow floated. There are always 

shadows near 
And my heart but holds them dear. 



Babies' Eyes. 37 

Ah! so many scenes arise, 
Each a sweet or sad surprises- 
Brought me by the magic shadows as the western 

colors glow 
And the skies more sombre grow; 

Shadows, shadows on the wall 

How I love you as you fall! 

Not a fear you bring my spirit, but a sweet and holy 

rest 
And a trust that all is best. 

I shall welcome you again 

When you bring release from pain: 

I shall dream a little longer, then your arms will 

compass me, 
And my sleep will silent be. 



BABIES' EYES. 

IN babies' eyes a glory lies, 
A hidden hint of Paradise; 
Who finds its glow, all joy may know. 
And walk with angels here below. 



38 Patience. 



PATIENCE. 

MY heart was breaking with its doubt, 
The burden seemed too hard to bear, 
The world was shorn of joy and Hght, 

There was no beauty anywhere; 
And all my loving seemed in vain, 
And all the world but made for pain. 

In those sad hours unto my soul 
A gentle meek-eyed angel came, 

And laid her hand upon my brow. 
And called me tenderly by name: 

So soft her voice, so low, so dear. 

My heart grew calm and still to hear. 

' * My child, ' ' she said, ' ' can you not learn 

The lessons that in love I tell ? 
Can you not school your heart to bear 

Such seeming sorrows bravely, well ? 
When you have made me one with you 
You shall be noble, strong and true. ' ' 



Consummation. 39 



Since then I feel she dwells with me; 

Her smiles of cheer to me belong; 
Her voice can bring my heart repose; 

Her hand is ever sure and strong: 
And thus I found a joy in pain, 
Since it was mine so much to gain. 



CONSUMMATION. 

WHY did I weep o'er flowers of the May? 
I, who hold fast the shocks of garnered grain, 
The ripe corn's yield, the purple grape's rich store, 
The harvest wealth of orchard, wood, and plain ? 

Before such splendors those sweet blossoms seem 

So pale and colorless, I wonder how 
I ever wept because they faded fast; 

I did not dream, I should be rich as now. 

O kindly Fate! that takes, although we weep, 
Sweet flowers of spring, to give us larger store! 

That piles life's treasures high until our hearts 
Are satisfied, and we can ask no more! 

But, garnered grain, perfected end of bloom. 
Treasures of heart that shall not fade away! 

Ye had not been, had I not known and loved, 
And lost in tears, those flowers of the May. 



40 



In Prison. 



IN PRISON. 

JAM in prison, lo! on either hand 
The gray walls rise that shut me from the day ; 
Thick walls whose strength defy my woman power, 

Within whose niches grow the mosses gray: 
Time-worn these walls, the home of many a heart 
Who longed like mine to know the better part. 

I am in prison, though above, the sky 

Gleams clear, and daisied fields are mine. To stray 
By winding rivers where the cowslips grow. 

No voice forbids, no bar impedes the way: 
And overhead I hear the swallow's wings, 
And in the copse the wood- thrush softly sings. 



Yet where I go I bear my prison walls; 

I cannot soar and sing while they arise; 
And those I love cannot stand heart to heart, 

I can but see the love-light in their eyes; 
I can but reach across the walls to find 
The dear loved hands that should so closely bind. 



A Canary. 41 

O human life, thy bands are hard to bear! 

O world of sense, that towers above the real ! 
O barren walls, that shut within the soul ! 

O time-worn prison, barring our ideal 
From our attaining! — could we scale thy side 
How life would widen and be glorified. 

And yet my soul thou knowest what will be; 

How fair the country is beyond, away. 
Be patient, bear thy bondage for a time; 

Thou shalt be free to see and know some day: 
To know the true, and truly to be known. 
And soul to soul to stand before thine own. 



A CANARY. 

TO leaden skies thou lookest up to sing. 
Bright-throated songster, as to skies of blue 
Like thee, to God, my tribute song I bring. 
Rising, above life-shadows, clear and true. 



42 The Angel of the Annunciation. 



THE ANGEL OF THE ANNUNCIATION. 

A HOLY angel came one night 
With UHes in her hand; 
All silvered by the clear moonlight 
I saw her stand. 

About her like a halo shone 

Her rippling golden hair, 
The lilies cast their shadow on 

Her bosom bare. 

Her eyes gleamed softly through the gloom; 

— Her radiant, heavenly eyes — 
Her presence made my narrow room 

A Paradise. 

Low words she spoke, sweet words that made 

My soul grow still to know; 
And softly on my breast she laid 

The blooms, like snow. 

Then all was silence, and the moon 

Across my casement shone; 
The vision vanished all too soon; 

I was alone, 



Home. 43 

Save for the lilies sweet and white 

That on my breast were laid: 
Save for the memory of the light 

Her presence made. 

Since that rare hour, upon my breast 

Those lilies still I bear; 
Fadeless and beautiful, they rest 

Their pureness there. 

The years may come, the years may go. 

And light and youth depart; 
Immortal shall their beauty glow 

Within my heart. 



HOME. 

WITHIN the walls by art bedecked. 
Beneath a glittering palace dome. 
If there the voice of childhood sounds 
The woman's heart will find a home. 

On cabin floor, in barren room, 

Beneath torn tents of those who roam, 

If tiny, helpless hands are there, 
The woman's heart will find a home. 



44 ^^^ Old Vinaigrette. 



AN OLD VINAIGRETTE. 

LITTLE gleaming box of silver 
Wrought in flowery design; 
Drifted down the silent ages 
To this humble hand of mine; 

From the days of kingly France, 
From the days of minuet dance, 

From the days of stately graces, 
Powdered hair and painted faces; 

Bring a shining thread of story 

To this all-prosaic hour; 
From those castles proud and olden, 

Those salons of wit and power. 

You have known the love and woe 
Of fair dames of long ago; 

Round you like a love- tale wreathing 
Is the perfume of their breathing. 

Silent! Not a word to give me! 

See, I raise your flowery lid; 
Whisper in your heart my secret 

Knowing you will keep it hid. 



A71 Old Vmaigrette. 45 

One more life now leaves its trace; 

One more love has lent its grace; 
Keep it sacred down the ages 

On your shining silver pages. 

Now my imprint I have given 

Though you never bear my name : 

Graven with your silver roses 
Are all lives of praise or blame. 

All things that we touch or wear 

Must the spirit's impress bear. 
Every hand that ever won you 

Left a fadeless mark upon you. 

Love and hate and jealous passion, — 

All I feel have been your own; 
Shall my life not breathe about you 

Purer love than you have known ? 

Nobler grows this life with years, 

Grander grow earth's hopes and fears; 

May the traces of my living 

Make this heirloom worthier giving. 



46 Whence and WJiither. 



WHENCE AND WHITHER. 

THERE'S a spring behind the river, 
Far above us on the mountain 
Where the mornings come the soonest 
And the evenings longest glow; 
There's a bow behind the arrow 
Flying swiftly from the bow-string, 
There's a bow behind the arrow. 
And a hand behind the bow; 
There's a root beneath the flower 
In the darkness far below. 

There's a sea before the river 
Mighty sea that rolls in splendor; 
There's a mark before the arrow, 
Speeding, singing on its way; 
There is seed before the blossom 
Pregnant seed, that holds the meaning 
Of the fragrance of the flower. 
And the colors warm and gay; 
There is yesterday behind us, 
And to-morrow for to-day. 



The Brook. 47 



THE BROOK 

THERE runs the hurrying brook away, 
Where meadows stretch their emerald green; 
Where sleek cows feed and glad birds sing; 
Through mountain passes, and between 
Huge boulders topped with lichens gray; 

Past cottage doors where children play; 
Past quiet churchyards where the dead 
Sleep all unmindful of its song; 
Past busy marts where weary tread 
The living, heedless of its lay. 

Where runs the hurrying brook away ? 
By sandy reaches to the sea, 
Longing to join the waves that break 
Upon the beaches wild and free, 
Bearing their burden of white spray. 

How runs the hurrying brook away ? 

Like melody the bobolink pours 

Upon the air; like the sweet strain 

Of music borne through half-closed doors, 

Like girlhood's laughter heard in May; 



48 A Prayer. 

Like love that beautifies the way, 
Its journeyings pure and full and free; 
Like human life itself that sings 
Toward the great eternity, — 
So runs the hurrying brook away. 



A PRAYER. 

IN every great heroic deed 
That lifts the human race; 
In smallest, dear self-sacrifice, 
I see Thy tender face, 

I cannot see Thee yet, O God ! 

In squalor, and in crime; 
I long to reach that upward way 

Whence all things seem sublime. 

Help me, Thy struggling child, to see 

The mighty in the small; 
Through evil as through righteousness, 

To name Thee God of all. 



A Windy Day. 49 



A WINDY DAY. 

THERE'S not a leaf at peace; 
The wind plays gaily with them all day long; 
The willow swings and sways and sings its song, 
The linden rustles, and the apple throws 
Its arms about, and its green treasure shows. 

There's not a flower still. 

The poppies nod along the garden wall 

In crimson glory; hollyhocks so tall 

Sway back and forth; the marigold bends low 

And looks into the bed where pansies grow. 

There's not a cloud at rest; 

They float and change and seem to swim the sky, 
Great snowy clouds, like birds that soar and fly; 
The arching heavens are blue as blue can be, 
And seem to bend to kiss the spreading sea. 

The waves dance in the sun; 

They break in curling foam along the sand, 

Singing a love song to the verdant land. 

Light blends with shadow over mount and sea, — 

Life seems but beauty, motion, melody. 



50 Song of the Chain. 



SONG OF THE CHAIN. 

THE smithy stood by his furnace fire 
Forging an iron chain; 
The ruddy flames leaped high and higher, 
And many a song sang he. 
A song of love and a song of pain, 
A song of passion and desire. 

Of hope, of Heaven, and joy to be. 

The farmer said, " Forge me a chain, 
To bind my wheel, as from the field 
I bring the summer's golden yield; — 

The happy harvest's wealth of grain." 

' ' Forge me a chain, ' ' the seaman said, 
' ' With which to hold my good ship fast, 
When death is walking in the blast, 

And storms are raging overhead. ' ' 

" Forge me a chain," the builder cried, 
"A strong and long and mighty chain, 
To bear the heaviest weight and strain. 

And let each link be thick and wide." 



So7ig of the Chain. 51 

The mourner said, " Forge me a chain, 
A small, light chain to mark the place 
Where, wrapped in peaceful death's embrace, 

The tired heart forgets its pain. ' ' 

" Forge me a chain," the woodman said, 
' ' To yoke my oxen to the load. 
When homeward through the forest road 

I bring my heavy-laden sled. ' ' 

" Forge me a chain," the warden said, 
" A chain to bind my prisoner sure, 
A chain that shall for years endure, 

Till you are old and I am dead." 

The smithy stood by his glowing fire. 

Forging an iron chain; 
The ruddy flames leaped high and higher, 
And many a song sang he. 
A song of love and a song of pain, 
A song of passion and desire. 

Of hope, of Heaven, and joy to be. 



52 Nameless. 



NAMELESS. 

SHE came, a spirit fresh from God. 
This tiny grave 
Where in the spring the daisy blows, 
Where in the winter drift the snows. 
Was all earth gave. 

A soul that God saw fit to send 

Beneath the skies; 
An angel that had earthward come; 
She might have made some lonely home 

A Paradise. 

There were already eight to feed: 

What room for this ? 
Yet dimpled limbs, and hair of gold, 
And lips like rose-buds that unfold, 

Were made to kiss. 

Earth gave this nameless grave to one 

Who faultless came. 
There was no room below. In Heaven 
God grant that unto such be given. 

Love, home, a name. 



Carrier Pigeon. 53 



CARRIER PIGEON. 

MY pigeon's wings are strong to move 
In services of war or love. 
See how she beats her prison bars, 
Longing to fly into the sky; 
Blame not my bird but see her pine; 
Not hers the fault, but it is mine. 
She waits to use the powers God gave, 
She longs to sail the airy wave 
Of the blue ether; speak no blaming word; 
Pity the restless captive bird. 

O Thou, who gavest the pigeon sight 

To guide her on her fearless flight, 

And long, strong wings to bear her far; 

Thou knowest why she does not fly ? 

Thou who gavest the soul desire 

To mount to Thee, and to aspire 

Unto the best, seest Thou the hand 

That binds ? Or is it Thy command 

That placed these bars, where, like poor captive 

things, 
We beat our strong, God-given wings ? 



54 A Tapestry Picture. 



A TAPESTRY PICTURE. 

THEY were cunning hands and bold 
That wrought on canvas this design ; 
Prancing horses, hfted spears, 
And still bright through all these years, 
Crimson robes and trappings fine. 

Dust those hands are now, I ween! 
Shall yon tiger leap in vain 
At the fallen rider ? Now 
Valiant men your weapons throw, 
Would you see him rise again. 

It was mighty thus to work! 
It would seem that palm-tree must 
Bend toward you, and the sky 
Flush as with the sunset-dye. 
See that horse that paws the dust! 

Ah! the bold, keen hand that wrought 
This design in colors strong, 
Shut within a convent wall, 
In some Arab tent, or hall. 
Of old Persia, claims a song. 



Balder the Beautiful. 55 

Be it mine those hands to praise 
Which in lasting work excel. 
Though no name the ages give, 
Still immortal do they live 
In their works, who work so well. 



BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 

NOW stirs the sap in the elm and the maple, 
Tiny leaves spring from the willow and oak ; 
It is thy hand that has loosened the river, 
It was thy voice that so tenderly spoke. 

Nothing in nature could dream of refusing; 

All have obeyed thy inaudible call; 
Gently and lovingly, Balder the Beautiful, 

Does thy glad smile shed its light over all. 

Come to my heart-, O thou god of the springtime! 

Under thy smile let the winter depart; 
Melt out the snows that so often have chilled me. 

Breathe on the flowers that bud in my heart. 



56 Garden of Cliiny. 



GARDEN OF CLUNY. 

HE who stands in Cluny's garden, 
In the city of the Seine, 
Ivied towers rising round him 

Darkened by the century's stain — 

Sees beneath his feet a pavement 
Worn by chariot-wheels that whirled 

To their wars, men whose ambitions 
Made the history of the world. 

There beneath a pile of granite 
Honey-combed by many a year. 

Is the grave of one whose history 
Reads: "A Roman lieth here." 

Who or what, no fable tells us, 
Man or woman, king or slave; 

All of life summed in the sentence: 
''This an ancient Roman's grave." 

All the glory now forgotten, 

All the sorrow, all the joy; 
Was he conqueror or conquered ? 

Fortune's tool or fortune's toy? 



Garden of Cluny. 57 

Or, a woman ? whose great beauty- 
Held an emperor in thrall; 

In whose bosom raged the passions 
Which make nations rise or fall. 

What to-day is all that glory ? 

What those battles' loss or gain ? 
What are passions and their power ? 

What are love and hate and pain ? 

Only this — though man or woman, 
One great battle had been fought, 

One great, valiant, bloodless struggle. 
For some pure exalted thought. 

Fought the fight as we must fight it. 

In the Spirit's mighty name. 
Held within their soul the victory, 

Bore within their soul the shame. 

He is greatest who best conquers; 

All beside is slow decay; 
Nameless tomb, forgotten splendor, 

As the ages whirl away. 

And the balance hangs forever 
Just between soul-loss and gain ; 

Good still fights the war with Evil 
In the city on the Seine. 



58 Real Worth. 



REAL WORTH. 

THE storied page is not the test of good. 
Fame may be sweet, but is not all of worth. 
There is more virtue in the bread of life 
Than all the honey and the froth of earth. 

Those men well known to time, those fadeless names, 
May not have been the honest ones or best; 

May not have been the ones that warred for right 
With noblest purpose, most unselfish zest. 

But favorites of fate; all hail to these! 

For greatness was their birthright most divine. 
Fame's herald shall such names proclaim afar. 

They need no praise from such weak lips as mine. 

But I would speak one word for those brave souls 
Whose labors have been lost or seem in vain; 

Those faithful ones who have so nobly wrought, 
And only reaped a harvesting of pain; 

Of disappointed hopes and burning tears. 

No homage to their names the nations pay; 
Our ears will never hear them loud proclaimed; 

They wear no crown of laurel or of bay; 



Gain. ^g 

But are so strong and noble, tender, brave; 

So when we praise the great and say, ' ' All hail ! ' ' 
Oh! let our hearts remember those white souls 

Whose lot has been to struggle and to fail. 



GAIN. 

HOW shall we count the gain from what we miss ? 
The wasted blooms where hangs the perfect 
rose? 
The blighted buds of bush and bough that bear 
The luscious fruit ? Whose vision can disclose, 
The dead, whose dying makes a kingdom strong ? 
Weak hearts that mourn above an old-time loss 
Gain not the glory of the sacrifice. 
They know the pain, the jeers, the hyssop-sponge 
But not the final victory of the Cross. 



6o My hifant Son. 



MY INFANT SON. 

VIOLET of the sweet spring days, 
Do thy best with sun and rain; 
Deeply drink of evening dew 

Else thy blooming will be vain; 
Rivals are my baby's eyes, 
Like the constant azure skies. 

June's wild rose, push deep thy root; 

Make thy blossoms fair to see, 
Curl thy petals pink and sweet; 

Soft and fragrant though they be. 
Softer, sweeter, pinker far 
Baby's cheeks all dimpled are. 

Cherries ripe with summer's smile. 
Riper red is baby's mouth; 

Sweeter than your juices sweet, 
Is its kiss; and like the south 

Blowing through your branches green 

Is the breath that comes between. 



My Infant Son. 6i 

Lily of the summer, though 

Thou canst clothe thyself in white, 

Like the summer's snowy cloud. 
Spotless, beautiful and bright; 

Whiter is the forehead high 

Where my baby's bright curls lie. 

Shell that nestles in the sand, 

Rosy, pink, and fair to me. 
As some gem the wind and storm 

Wrested from the angry sea; 
Rosier, fairer and more sweet 
Are my darling's hands and feet. 

Little eyes be ever thus 

Pure as summer's arching blue; 

Little lips your sweetness keep. 

Strong your speech be, noble, true; 

Fair cheek's bloom and forehead's snow 

Never shame's red mantle know. 

Hands and feet so pink and small, — 
Dear God guide them day by day! 

Mother-love would keep from pain; 
Smooth all roughness from the way; 

Yet my heart makes one request: — 

Heaven lead them to the best. 



62 The Rosicriicia7i' s Lamp. 



THE ROSICRUCIAN'S LAMP. 

IN some old tomb beneath blue southern skies, 
Was found a wondrous lamp, with wick aflame, 
That had been burning twice six hundred years, 
Above some hero of an ancient name. 

From gold this oil of everlasting life 

Was made by some famed, mystic brotherhood. 
That held the secrets of life's hidden powers. 

Whose magic, strength of time and change with- 
stood. 

In life's great crucible my gold I cast, 

My heart's gold, and the ruddy fire of pain 

Has claimed it, and has melted and refined. 
And given back the precious wealth again. 

Now I will light my lamp that shall not pale, 
But burn unchecked through many changing 
years, 

Above the tomb where I have laid the past, 
Where I have left the heart-ache and the fears. 



Behind. 63 

O lamp of hope! your beauty shall not dim; 

O lamp of faith! your brightness shall endure; 
O lamp of trust! I will not be afraid 

While life is lighted by a -flame so pure. 



BEHIND. 

BEHIND each noble action 
Its saintlier being dwells; 
Behind each kind word spoken 
Love's tide unceasing swells. 

Back of the saddest sinning 

Abides a pure ideal, 
That only lacks the power 

To make its beauty real. 

It is man's darkest evil 
This nobler self to slay; 

It is God's highest mandate 
Its promptings to obey. 



64 A Landscape in Oils. 



A LANDSCAPE IN OILS. 

THOUGH autumn, yet you somehow feel 
That blue-bells blossomed here in spring; 
No artist that has ever lived 

Could paint the song that thrushes sing; 
And yet it seems that one could hear 
The thrushes from those birches near. 

There is a something that invites 
The weary breast to heave a sigh; 

There is a house behind that hill; 
That flowery path that wanders by, 

Has often been by lovers trod 

Who plighted troth alone with God. 

True art, like nature, ever bears 
Suggestions of some higher thing; 

As more than form or tint of bird 
We prize the song he stops to sing: 

So genius is the power to guide, 

And show the heart, life's nobler side. 



The Grape- Vine Bloom. 65 



THE GRAPE-VINE BLOOM. 

YOUR wonderous scent is borne to me 
On wavering gusts of June's soft wind, 
Holding all richness for its own, 

The sweetness of all flowers combined. 

Oh! coy you seem, like some fair maid 
That longs to keep her lover's eyes. 

Striving with every art to win, 

But when he fain would clasp her, flies. 

So jealous of your gifts you are, 
I hang above your modest bloom 

And press it in my hand to find 
The tiny flowers yield no perfume. 

I turn to go and lo! a breeze 

Your odor rich with sweets has brought. 
Calling me back, to praise again 

Your blossom delicately wrought. 

Breath fit for gods! your scent enthralls; 

It seems like air from lands divine. 
O bloom of Bacchus, praise I give! 

Hail! promise of the clustered vine. 



66 Slumber Song. 



SLUMBER SONG. 

CLOSE those little tired eyes, 
Eyes not used to earthly tears; 
Ease that little restless heart, 

Not yet used to earthly fears; 
Peace and joy should ever be 
Guardians of infancy. 

Fold those little restless hands; 

Future years their strength shall own; 
Still those litde tired feet, 

Pink as roses newly blown. 
Hush! my darling, fall asleep, 
Time will bring thee tears to weep. 

Rocking softly to and fro, 

I will croon thy lullaby. 
Like a weary little bird 

Let thy sleepy voice reply. 
Hush thy cries and fall to rest, 
Cradled on thy mother's breast, 



The Knight and the Maid. 67 



THE KNIGHT AND THE MAID. 

THERE was a knight of noble name 
Who loved a lady fair; 
A valiant knight in war was he, 
A braver heart in love had she, — 
The maid with sunny hair. 

The land had need of men like him. 

He drew the maiden near: 
* ' I cannot, will not leave your side, 
Let duly call, — I here abide; 

My world, my all is here." 

The maiden kissed her lover's brow. 
Then put him from her breast: 

* ' I cannot love you if you stay. 

Away! where duty calls, — away! 
Though death should do his best." 

She clasped the sword about his waist. 

She held his gleaming spe^r. 
She watched him through the postern gate; 
His duty action, — hers to wait 

In agony and fear. 



68 Infants^ Tears. 

The knight upon the hard-won field 

Wore an unflinching brow. 
He won the envied wreath of fame, 
And later days repeat his name; — 
The maid — forgotten now. 



INFANTS' TEARS. 

HOW little thought we give to infants' tears! 
We who above a heart-break rise sublime. 
We smile upon them, soothing the small fears 
By touch of hand, by foolish nursery rhyme. 

Almighty One, dost Thou in love look on 

With gentle smile while we Thy children weep ? 

Bend low Thy hand, dear Lord, to rest upon 
Thy child and soothe its sorrowing to sleep. 



The True Self. 69 



THE TRUE SELF. 

WHAT though we fail! through failure 
The spirit learns to rise. 
Upon the soul we bear the marks 
Of strife and sacrifice. 

That which we dream of doing, 

That which we wish to be, 
That which our prayer is pleading 

With pure intensity: — 

This is the truest nature, 

The God-like and the strong; 
Struggling and yearning upward 

Through failure and through wrong. 



yo When You are Far. 



WHEN YOU ARE FAR. 

WHEN you are far, sweet love, 
I know how dear you are; 
I am beset with pain; 
I feel I never told you well 
All the deep love whose throb and swell 
Sweep over me in vain, 
When you are far. 

When you are far, dear love, 

I know how dear you are; 
I sit and dream how I shall say 
The loving thoughts that fill my mind; 
The foolish fancies fond and kind 
With which I dream the hours away, 
When you are far. 

When you are far, my love. 
What grand resolves mine are! 
But when you come, they kneel 
With hidden face; and when 
Your lips touch mine, — ah! then 
I can but live the love I feel. 
When you are far. 



Hyvm. 71 



HYMN. 

OLORD hear Thou the cry of pain! 
The world is wide, so long the way! 
Thy children's hearts are big with grief, 
They cannot stop their tears to pray. 

In weary darkness, trembling gloom. 

When tempests lower and waves are wild, 

Speak to the heart that turns to Thee, 
* ' Be brave, fear not my child. ' ' 

Oh, eyes that see and ears that hear! 

That need no words of prayer to know 
The deepness of the spirit's grief, 

The barren wastes of want and woe. 

Oh, eyes that see, and ears that hear! 

However far Thy children stray. 
Thy love can follow into hell, 

And win the soul away. 



72 Contoocook River. 



CONTOOCOOK RIVER. 

FAIR Contoocook, singing river, 
Flowing over granite ledges, 
With a fringe of tall, brown sedges, 
Golden-rod with yellow hair. 
Meadow's queen so stately fair. 
Cardinal flowers of brilliant hue. 
Pickerel-weed with blossoms blue. 
Ah! you are a generous giver 
Of such sweets, Contoocook River. 

Like a brook through forests gushing. 
Under pines that whisper lowly; 
Through broad meadows flowing slowly, 
Where the cattle stoop to drink, 
Bending o'er your flower- fringed brink; 
And the bird to lave his wing 
In your wave forgets to sing. 
Where the silver birches quiver 
Flowing on, Contoocook River. 

Gentle stream you are, O river! 
High the mountains tower above you, 



Contoocook River. 73 

And the hills as if they love you, 

Watch your narrow, winding track 

As toward the Merrimac, 

Gently, like some dear old song, 

That the heart remembers long, 

Through New Hampshire's valleys flowing, 

Are your rippling waters glowing. 

Gay and sweet your song O river! 
Sweetest where the rough stones meet you. 
Gladdest where the boulders greet you. 
Never stone so hard and brown 
But your flowing wore it down. 
Onward, onward in your song. 
Nothing can delay you long. 
Forward, forward, on forever. 
Type of life, fair singing river. 



74 Dead Pain. 



DEAD PAIN. 

I LEARNED to take the hand of Pain 
And look within her tear-stained eyes; 
To pierce her fearful, dark disguise, 
And feel her teachings were not vain. 

In youth's first flush, in love's first dream, 
One day, she came to stay with me; 
I hid my face; I would not see 

A guest whose voice so harsh could seem. 

I listened not to what she said. 

Sweet Pain, I know you better now; 

I weave white roses for your brow. 
And love you now that you are dead. 

You dwelt beside me till I knew 

Your face was beautiful and fair; 

You drew my stubborn heart to prayer. 
You were so strong, so wise, so true 

And just as I had learned to say, 

' ' Dear Pain ! ' ' you died, and to your grave 
I bring the treasure that you gave; 

A wealth of joy is mine to-day. 



A Dream. 75 



A DREAM. 

THE world had long been sleeping; 
The earth was cold and gray; 
I heard but the sound of my footsteps 

As they echoed on the way; - 
And the voice of pines whose singing 
Was learned of the waves by day. 

I raced with a star while dreaming 
All through the silent night; 

Till I felt the air on my forehead 
Of the night bird's sweeping flight; 

Yet I saw the bending primrose, 
And the lily tall and white. 

It mattered not though the pathway 
Grew stony, narrow, steep; 

That to thorns turned rose and lily, 
For my soul, too glad to weep. 

Pursued the beautiful vision. 
With ecstasy full and deep. 



76 Death. 

On, on through the dewy silence 

My restless spirit fled, 
No thought of all I was leaving 

While that starry glory led. 
Which beckoned, forever beckoned, 

And forever onward sped. 

It was only a dream and faded 

When the sun touched dale and hill. 

Only a dream ! but onward 
Its glory leads me still. 

O, beautiful star, I follow! 
Lead wheresoever you will. 



DEATH. 

NO grim, gaunt monster this to me; 
A being fair, though strong, is she; 
A white-robed maid with folded palms, 
And eyes that hint of heavenly calms. 

A gentle presence, silence-shod; . 
A swift-winged messenger of God, 
Who bears upon her peaceful breast 
The weary souls that sigh for rest. 



So7ig, 77 



SONG. 



THE southern bird flies north again, 
The bloom is on the tree; 
The columbine is tipped with gold, 
O, wandering heart, come back to me. 

The wild rose blushes on the hill. 

And blue the summer sea; 
The clover fields perfume the air, 

O, wandering heart, come back to me. 

The purple bloom is on the grape, 
The maple crimsons on the lea; 

The woodbine spills its royal blood, 
O, wandering heart, come back to me. 

The snow is white upon the world. 
The merry brooks must silent be; 

While dreary moans the northern wind, 
O, wandering heart, come back to me. 

I am not sad as seasons roll; 

Life still is sweet, joy still is free; 
And yet, — and yet, — there is something lost- 

O, wandering heart, come back to me. 



78 Garnered Sheaves. 



GARNERED SHEAVES. 

DEAR Lord, I bring Thee all my sheaves 
Garnered in by-gone years; 
Ripened by suns of joy and peace 

And watered by my tears. 
Long I have dared to call them mine 
But now I know that they are thine. 

Life's grain is there, — a goodly yield, 

With fancy's flowers sweet. 
All I have lived and loved and dared 

I cast before Thy feet; 
And hidden 'mid my garnered sheaves 
There are some dull and faded leaves. 

And tares are there. I tried so long 

To pluck them from the grain. 
My hands have bled, my tears have flowed; 

The past comes not again. 
But Thou, Creator of each seed, 
Art Lord of thistle and of weed. 

To my poor sight all mortal-dim, 
Full light has not been given; 



Two Songs. 79 

Yet I have sometimes thought that tares 

Might bloom the rose of heaven; 
That what seems only fit to burn 
May yield at last a rich return. 

That when we fail, we often win; 

Rise highest, when we fall; 
That by what seems our loss, we gain 

The grandest step of all. 
However it may be, my past 
Is lying at Thy feet at last. 



TWO SONGS. 

HE sang from the depths of a mighty sorrow 
Filling and thrilling his heart and brain. 
With never a hope for a bright to-morrow. 

With solemn dirge for a buried pain. 
The great world kept on its busy way 

Nor thought nor cared for his mournful lay. 

He sang from the height of a mighty gladness 
Filling and thrilling the heart and soul. 

With never a thought of old-time sadness. 
Or old-time sinning beyond control. 

The great world turned from its busy way 
To join with him in his joyous lay. 



8o The Morning Glory. 



THE MORNING GLORY. 

O DAINTY flower! thy crystal cup 
The timid humming-bird may sup, 
And gain such fill of nectar sweet 
The gods might envy him the treat! 

O messenger of morning fair! 

Thy moist, cool cups of color rare. 

Seem fairy bells to ring for glee, 

Glad tidings over land and sea, 

That morn has dawned, that night has fled. 

And light and gladness come instead. 

Fair clinging vines! your wondrous blooms 
Eclipse the thread of Eastern looms, 
And borrow from the summer skies 
The color of their azure eyes; 
Grasping the morning's reddening tone. 
Daring to claim it as their own. 

O messenger of morning sent 

To gladden earth when night is spent! 

Before the radiance of thy face 

Heart's winging hopes find resting-place. 



Wandering Willie. 8i 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

THERE was once a little boy, 
Wandering Willie, 
And his eyes were like the light 
That in springtime warmly lies 
In the violet's tender eyes, 
Or upon the summer skies 

When days are bright. 

His hair was like the flower 

Of the hazel, 
Which, when autumn woods are gay, 
Blooms along the pasture wall, 
Or like dancing lights that fall 
Through the forests dark and tall. 

Like elves at play. 

I will tell you whence his name, 

Wandering Willie; 
Never was this baby still, 
All day long his feet would stray 
Down the dusty, scorching way. 
Over meadows flower-gay. 

Or pine-grown hill. 



Wandering Willie, 

Always laden were his hands 

With some treasure. 
Flowers from the rarest nook, 
Birds' eggs broken in their fall, 
Cones from pine and fir-tree tall, 
Lichens from the gray stone-wall. 

Beside the brook. 

Or when bound to keep the peace. 

Wandering Willie, 
Dreaming of a wondrous land. 
In the tasseled grass would lie 
Looking up into the sky 
Where the cloud-ships floated by. 

All white and grand. 

When I asked him what he dreamed, 

He would answer: 
* * Of the time when I shall sail 
Far away beyond the sea, 
A gay prince or knight to be. ' ' 
'•' Will you come again to me. 

Come without fail ? ' ' 

Then he'd answer with a kiss. 

Lightly laughing: 
* ' I will come home every night, 
Mamma dear, and bring you gold, 



Wandering Willie. 83 

Treasures wonderful and old, 
All the flowers I can hold, 

Most fair and bright. ' ' 

And ere long it happened so. 

Wandering Willie 
Took the journey he had planned; 
But this time he did not stray, 
For we bore him on that day. 
And fair blossoms strowed the way, 

Unto that land. 

Keep your promise made to me 

Wandering Willie. 
Come to bless me in grief's night; 
Bring me treasures rare and old, 
Hope and faith more bright than gold; 
Bring me love that grows not cold 

For want of sight. 



84 Longing. 



LONGING. 

ALMIGHTY Father! in my heart 
To-night I hold a voiceless prayer; 
I cannot speak my quickened thought, 

Words are too feeble far to bear 
The longing that is throbbing there. 

A nameless longing to be Thine; 

A craving to be one with Thee; 
A something born of fading eve, 

Of fragrant flower and sighing tree. 
Of song-bird's low, sweet melody. 

The placid deep of yonder lake 
Reveals Thy glory to the sight. 

And not a western cloud gold-tipped, 
And not a swallow's wheeling flight. 

But hints Thy tenderness. Thy might. 

And I beseech my God who gave 
Nature a voice; who hung the sky 

With red and gold, and gave the wing 
To the wild bird; to hear my cry 

And lift this longing heart on high. 



Lohengrin. 85 



LOHENGRIN. 

A THREAD of truth runs through the sad, 
sweet myth. 
Often we pray, Hke Elsa for her knight. 
When wrong has grown triumphant over truth. 
And we must battle singly for the right. 

Faith was the swan that bore him o' er the sea. 
That mighty knight that knew not fear or shame. 

Doubt was the tempter that the spell destroyed 
And sent him back to glories whence he came. 

Oh! question not Love's lineage or race; 

Trust makes him king and gives him strength to 
dare. 
As long as that remains, though heavenly born, 

He walks the humblest path without a care. 

Sweet Elsa, thou the soul oft doubt-depressed. 
Know that by faith alone all joys are thine. 

The holiest in life is ever wrapped 
In mystery; all love is half divine. 



86 Then and Now. 



THEN AND NOW. 



THE blossoming clover, the clouds floating over, 
The birds that soared high and sang to the sky, 
The ships that sailed by; 

The grass that waved lightly, the eyes dancing 

brightly, 
The child free from care, the sea bright and fair. 
Where are they, oh, where ? 



Now garnered the clover, dark clouds have come 

over, 
The birds that were gay, are silent to-day, 
The ships far away. 

The grass has known reaping, the strong seas are 

sweeping, 
The heart has known fears, the eyes have known 

tears, 

And time tells the years. 

New harvests of clover, white clouds floating over; 
The birds sing and soar, the grass waves once more. 
The seas kiss the shore; 



Dissatisfied. 87 

But — eyes dancing brightly, the child laughing 

lightly; 
The heart free from "care, the ships staunch and fair- 
Where are they, oh, where ? 



DISSATISFIED. 

SO sad, while the song-bird sweetly 
Proclaims the morning's light. 
So sad, while the baby voices 
Babble a gay good night. 

So sad for the ideal vanished. 
So sad for the far-off years; 

So sad for the faint fulfillment. 
So sad for the causeless tears. 

So sad for a lack of longing, 

Although the great ideal, 
Which has led me ever onward, 

Is still beyond the real. 



88 Earth! s True Miisic. 



EARTH'S TRUE MUSIC. 

LIKE the song of the bird that's nesting, 
Like the surge of the summer sea, 
From the far-off deeps of fancy, 
Sweet music comes to me. 

It bears to the troubled hour 

The grace that the past has worn, 

O'er moonlit wakes of memory 
Into the present borne. 

The echo of all things tender 

That ever were sung or said, 
The loving words of the living, 

The sacred words of the dead. 

No sweet word ever spoken 

But echoes in that song. 
No noble word but whispers 

Its thrilling cords along. 

Listen, oh soul! beheve it. 

This comes from the human heart; 

I heed not the roar of the rabble, 
The noise of the street and mart. 



Joy. 89 

And ever and ever onward 

May the strain still stronger grow, 

Till what I hear in my fancy, 
Over all the earth shall flow. 



JOY. 

MY heart seems bursting with its pent-up joy. 
Would I could sing a song as gay and sweet 
As that small bird that poises on the spray, 
Then dives among the grasses at my feet. 
You think, O bird! singing your joyous song, 
That life, from green-swathed earth to heaven above. 
Was made for you. Sweet bird, I think not so; — 
This earth and sky and all, were made for love. 



go Discontent. 



DISCONTENT. 

I RE ACHED the mountain top of joy; 
I paused amid the solitude; 
I saw the sun sink in the west, 

Its radiance lighting where I stood. 

I drew a sigh and looked above, 

Height upon height in splendor rose, 

Bathed in the crimson evening light. 
Like sunset tints on Alpine snows. 

Above my head the great peaks towered; 

My mountain top was small and low. 
The light I stood in was but faint 

Reflections of their afterglow. 

Onward I tread, and ever still 
Above my head the heights arise, 

Now bathed in evening's glorious light. 
Now bright beneath the noonday skies. 

There is no end; but ever higher 

Our hopes ascend, the more we climb; 

Whatever joy our hearts attain 

The heights above are more sublime. 



The Little Deed. 91 

Heights ever gleaming on our view! 

And thus we know our birth divine; 
That one with God we are to be, 

This, our immortal seal and sign. 



THE LITTLE DEED. 

NO act awaits the usual toiling throng 
That calls for strength and valor to be done; 
The days of tilts and jousts are long outrun. 
Of crusade, pilgrimage, and minstrel song. 

Our lives from day to day are but the sum 
Of little things that happen everywhere. 
Full of the commonplace of toil and care, 

Of word and deed that with each moment come. 

The little deed, but oh, how hard to do! 
Harder than battle of the noisy field. 
To meet life's daily temptings and not yield, 

To smile in spite of sorrow and be true. 



92 Husband of Wife. 



HUSBAND OF WIFE. 

I WILL not tell her of my past. 
Why read a worn-out book again ? 
Why trouble her with useless pain, 
Whose love doth fill my soul at last ? 

To tell would wrong her. High above 
All other love my life has known, 
She dwells, as stars whose beauty shone 
Upon our first warm kiss of love. 

I did not live before she wove 
Her Hfe about my life; this joy 
Proves former passion was alloy, 
A gilded counterfeit of love. 

No shade shall ever come between. 
No haunting memory beset; 
They noblest live who can forget; 
Her heart shall feel no sad — "has been." 



Wife of Husband. 93 



WIFE OF HUSBAND. 

I THOUGHT to hide my past away 
Beneath the joy that filled my heart 
When we were one, no more to part, 
Till death should name the parting day. 

But still between our clasping lips, 
Clung lips whose kisses used to thrill; 
Cold kisses of a love long still, 
The touch of vanished finger tips. 

A something stood between our love 
And whispered, " Speak, and set me free! " 
I spoke and told the * ' used to be, ' ' 
Each word that once had power to move. 

Then, only then, could I attain 
The inner temple of his life; 
Then, only then, was I the wife. 
Whose soul stood clear, without a stain. 



94 Primroses. 



PRIMROSES. 

LIKE the snows that lie without, 
Primrose blossoms meet my eye; 
And among them, clusters white, 
Promising a new delight 
That shall meet us by and by. 

Yet is blight with blossom found ; 
Blasted buds here grieve the sight. 
What the reason no one knew 
Why these died while others grew 
In the same sweet air and light. 

It was chance I hear you say. 
Withering blight for some should be; 
Chance for flower, means chance for soul. 
Whether germ or perfect whole, 
Law is ever unity. 

This a question men have grown 
Old in striving to make plain; 
In this primrose's blighted spray, 
Lieth will or destiny, 
Unseen good or purpose vain. 



The Nest 95 



Love must put the problem by. 
Loss or gain or chance or plan, 
Who is wise enough to know ? 
Meanwhile they as I must grow- 
Life of flower is life of man. 



THE NEST. 

NEST on the bough, thou art like my life. 
Within I feel the fluttering wings. 
The eager stir, the restless joy, 
The longing after far-off things. 

And shall my fate be such as thine ? 

Shall I behold my longings flown ? 
Shall I behold my fancies dead ? 

My hopes take wing and leave me lone ? 

Amid the flowers of southern lands 
Our summer birds are heard again. 

Heart hopes, sing on, the world is wide, 
But songs were never sung in vain. 



96 Songs from the Deeps. 



SONGS FROM THE DEEPS. 

HAST thou heard the blue sea as it sings on the 
sand? 
Dost thou know what it tells to the blossoming land ? 
Bloom on, gaily bloom for the night is at hand 
When shadows shall compass the world. 

Hast thou heard life's great sea as it sings to the 

heart ? 
Dost thou heed the refrain as its waves meet and 

part? 
Laugh on, gaily laugh, but a moment, thou art, 
Ere shadows shall compass the world. 

Hast thou heard death's wide sea as it sings to the 

soul? 
Canst thou catch the refrain as its swift billows roll ? 
Weep on, gently weep, but beyond is thy goal, 
And light shall encompass the world. 



The Old Bugle. 97 



THE OLD BUGLE. 

THIS bugle summoned men to die; 
Deep are the dents and scars it bears, 
And glory seems to breathe about 
The faded silken cord it wears. 

Its voice, that once stirred hearts to fire. 
Awakes no glow. Across the lake, 

From hill to hill and glen to glen, 
The silvery notes faint echoes wake. 

No bayonets gleam, no guns resound; 

The crimson oriole gaily sings. 
And like a sudden flash of light 

Flies from the bough on whirring wings. 

No gleaming phalanx sallies forth. 

"The color-call," the bugler said; — 
Gay are the notes, and in the breeze 

The lilac bows its crested head; 

The wild rose blushes at the sound 
And waves its banners fresh and gay; 

The airy, graceful columbines 

Swing on their stems in bright array. 



98 In April. 

My country! Peace is in your heart. 

The bugle finds no answer, save 
Echoes, fair blooms, the wild bird's song, 

And music of the lapping wave. 



IN APRIL. 

THE snow-drops rising hand in hand 
Proclaim that spring is here; 
The willow's silver finger-tips 

In swamp and wood appear; 
The bluebird pauses from his work 
To tell that May is near. 

My heart keeps time to merry songs, 
The songs the gay birds sing; 

Oh! I could dance for very joy 
To music of the spring; 

The gladdest days of all the year 
Are these that promise bring. 

For sweeter far than what we see, 
The dream of all that is to be. 



Dead Years. 99 



DEAD YEARS. 

I GRIEVE for the years that are no more, 
The sweet young years ere I was born, 
When hills were white with flowers of May 

Or gold with harvest wealth of corn; 
Sunrise and sunset warm and red 
That waxed and waned in years now dead. 

I grieve for the years that are no more, 
The years that were ere I saw the light. 

What wonderful deeds were then to dare. 
What wars that needed noble might; 

Oh ! loves that were so true and strong 

In those old days of love and song. 

I owe you a sacred debt, dead years, 
For the glorious treasure of to-day; 

The old-time battle and old-time pain 
To nobler living have led the way; 

Those passions and powers that raged of old 

Were purging fires to try life's gold. 



loo Bluebird. 

The early splendors of earth and sky; 

Unselfish living and noble fears; 
The upward reachings through dark and pain; 

Lives given to God in fire and tears; — 
None, none of these can I ever know, 
Yet I feel the life of the long ago. 



BLUEBIRD. 

BRIGHT bird on yonder dreary, leafless tree. 
Tuning that merry, lithesome throat to sing; 
Your perfect faith, far-seeing, waits the spring 
Though snow-flakes fly and skies all sullen be. 

Is wisdom given your simple mind to know 

Beneath the bark the warm saps leap and dart ? 
Or do you heed no herald but the heart 

That trusts in God through sunshine and through 
snow? 

Like you, brave bluebird, blind to force that lies 
Beneath the dreary surface of to-day, 
Yet trusting still God's promise of the May, 

Are winged hopes, that seem sweet prophecies. 



Day. loi 



DAY. 



HOW sweet indeed to sleep 
Beneath the shades of night; 
But sweeter far to wake 
Into. the morning hght. 

To rest from sin and toil, 

From weariness and pain, 
Is blessed rest indeed; — 

Better, to wake again. 

Better than unknown peace, 
Unconscious, deep, and sweet, 

The thrill of the warm, fresh blood 
Throbbing from head to feet. 

Better than idle dreams 

The labor of the day, 
The good deed we can do, 

The kind word we can say. 

Better, far better than rest 

When the shades and darkness flee; 
To hear, to feel, to think 

To know, to love, to be. 



I02 God All in All. 



GOD ALL IN ALL. 

GOD is in summer flowers that rise, 
In birds that carol to the skies; 
But is he less in noxious weed, 
In poison root and deadly seed, 
In slimy things that creep and crawl, 
Since He is ever All in All ? 

God of self-sacrifice and prayer; 
God of the hearts that nobly dare; 
Of childhood's innocence and glee; 
Of love and truth and loyalty; 
But what of those who sin and fall, — 
Accursed while God is All in All ? 

Love's lips are warm, life's wine is red 

And God is smiling overhead; 

But love proves false, the wine is spilled, 

The ecstasy and joy are stilled; 

We sit in shadow of the pall, 

Yet here, our God is All in All. 

Oh, blessed words! Oh, thought divine! 
To cheer us when we would repine; 



Baby s Eyes. 103 

To lift our hearts above earth's blight, 
To the eternal, fadeless Light. 
Earth has no ill that can appall 
The soul that owns God All in All. 



BABY'S EYES. 

MY baby's eyes! What light they hold; 
What wonderful hints of wealth untold 
Of lands where the flowers never die, 
Of tropic lands where the sunbeams lie. 
On diamond fields and hills of gold. 

My baby's eyes! There are hints in these 
Of wonder-land's glory, of sunny seas; 
Of ice-capped mountains and fields of snow; 
Of twilight shadows and moonlight glow. 
And the hidden springs of mysteries. 

There are hope and faith and glad surprise. 
And depths where latent passion lies; 
Sky-touching heights of peace and light, 
And rushing rivers of wild affright; 
And gleams of heaven in baby's eyes. 



I04 Psyche. 



PSYCHE. 

AH! Psyche, you were right, 
Love never should be blind. 
It was no lack of love to light 
Your torch, his face to find. 

And you were glad, I know, 
Through all your toil and pain, 

That you had seen your love, although 
You should not see again. 

Yours was a soul so true 

That, had he not been fair, 
But some dark, ugly monster, you 

Had loved too well to care. 

And so I claim your love 

Was wise, and I would choose 

To know, however hard it prove, 
The worth of what I lose. 



Kinship. 105 



KINSHIP. 



FLOWER of beauty what are you saying, 
From the deep silences whither you came ? 
Out of your heart of gold some thought is straying, 
Touching my heart like a quivering flame. 

Lift me your chalice with sweet insistence. 

Why is this heart-thrill as if a loved friend 
Had looked unto me from a grave in the distance, 

Rising to tell me death is not the end ? 

Say! were we star-mist whirling and swinging, 
And sweeping and spinning through the blue space? 

Heard we together the angel host singing ? 
Left we together the glorified place ? 

Beautiful flower divinity in us 

Makes you akin to my innermost soul. 
That from the gloom and the silence did win us; 
Outworking from darkness towards heaven we stole- 

O, wonderful flower what are you telling ? 

That you have God- force that strives to express 
Through a frail flower, infinity dwelling 

In visible form. Am I more, am I less ? 



io6 An Old Sword. 



AN OLD SWORD. 

SWORD of Damascus on my wall 
Hanging within thy time-worn sheath, 
About thee like a faded wreath 
Twineth the story of thy fall; 
Hangeth the story of thy fate, 
Of cities sacked and desolate, 
Of ruined castle dark and tall. 

On Persian fields thy blade was bare. 

Beside the Nile's eternal stream; 

On Athens' plains, where fondly dream 

The Greeks of days that yet shall wear 
A something of the olden pride 
When gods and men fought side by side; — 

Thy supple blade was gleaming there. 

In din of war, 'mid cries and cheers, 
Thy blade was glittering in the sun; 
A hundred victories thou hast won 

That filled the world with hopes and fears; 
And around thee yet the glory gleams; 
But Fate is juster than she seems 

And thou art conquered with the years. 



An Old Sword. 107 

But though thy tales of love and woe 
Are ended like a summer day, 
One noble deed shall not decay, 

Its glory leaves an afterglow. 
Who cares what hand has clasped thy hilt, 
Or what heart-blood thy blade has spilt 

On Persian sand or Russian snow ? 

But all the good that men have done 
Shall know not rusting or decay; 
And though thy blade be hid away 

And nevermore reflect the sun, 
Thy work for freedom shall endure 
While men are noble, women pure. 

And love of life and country one. 



io8 A New Hampshire Pond. 



A NEW HAMPSHIRE POND. 

BORDERED by birches white and tall, 
And pines that sob and sigh, 
Fair Norway pond, like some bright gem 
Set in a monarch's diadem, 
Smiles upward at the sky. 

The high hills rise to meet the clouds 

Above its silvery wave; 
The grasses grow along the shore, 
And flowers bend its waters o'er, 

As if they homage gave. 

Blue as the sky through summer days. 

At evening from the west 
The sunset's kisses make it glow, 
And in the night the stars drop low 

To lie upon its breast. 

Were it less fair, we'd love it still 

For its sweet lily-flowers, 
Looking to heaven with half- closed eyes, 
Like white souls sent from Paradise, 

To bless this world of ours. 



A Neiv Hampshire Pond. 109 

O, tranquil waters deep and cool! 

May no storm ever rise 
Harder than autumn's gentle breeze 
That brings bright flowers from the trees, 

Or moves the pines to sighs. 

Reflecting back the summer sky, 

Wooed by the summer's breath; 

Thou holdest in that watery gloom 

The mystery of the lilies' bloom, 
Life springing out of death. 



no Harmony. 



HARMONY. 

OH! lull me on thy bosom, kind deep sea! 
For I am weary of this checkered life, 
This striving after something not to be; 

The same old story, day by day, of strife 
And petty jealousies and harrowing pains, 
The losses that have far outweighed the gains. 

Oh! take me to thy arms eternal hills! 

On thy green bosom fold me till I feel 
A moment's respite from besetting ills. 

Let peace upon my drooping eyelids steal, 
As over tired children hushed to rest 
Upon the pillow of a mother's breast. 

Oh! take me to thyself eternal sky! 

Deep with the depths of grand tranquillity: 
Make me once more a part of thee, that I 

May feel my heirship to eternity. 
By thy pure stars, lead up my doubting soul 
Till conscious of my power I am made whole. 

Oh! take me to thyself. Eternal Heart! 
That is the sky the mountain and the sea. 



Song- Gift. Ill 

» 
In Thee, lo! everything must have a part. 
Evil and pain and failure lead to Thee. 
I have felt farthest when to Thee most near; 
When I have wept to find Thee, Thou art here. 



SONG-GIFT. 

ONCE amid the star-lit stillness 
That was music's sweetest breath, 
Ere the thorn was on the roses, 

Ere the lilies dreamed of death, 
Gleamed a radiance divine 
And a voice said, " Thou art mine." 

Since I came to dwell with mortals 
I have sought to find my own; 

I can trace a fitful likeness 

In the souls that I have known; 

But I feel no mystic thrill. 

That one voice is silent still. 

When I bend above the primrose. 

When the violet is blue; 
When the eglantine is heavy 

With the early morning dew; 



112 Song- Gift. 

I can feel a presence near 
That is sacred, that is clear. 

When I strive to set to music, 

Thoughts that break Hke crested foam: 
When I seek the wave-washed willows 
. Waving over childhood's home; 
Comes a presence half divine 
That is not of me or mine. 

When again I hear her calling 
I shall end my broken song; 

I shall wake my jarring harp-strings 
Into music new and strong. 

All that I have failed to sing 

Will her promised coming bring. 



To the Straw m a Horse- Car. 113 



TO THE STRAW IN A HORSE-CAR. 

ONCE you waved in fields of beauty 
Underneath the bkie; 
Now you come to do the duty 
Men have given you. 

Oh, how sweet the breath of spring was, 

As it kissed each blade, 
And the white clouds drove across you 

Drifts of sun and shade! 

And beneath the smile of summer. 

How you rustled then, 
As the mower came to reap you 

For the use of men! 

And to-night, when cold and tired 

Of the throngs I meet, 
I espied your nodding plumage 

Lying at my feet; 

How I thanked you for the pictures 

That you brought to me, 
Of your billowy, blooming beauty, 

Lovelier than the sea. 



114 Unborn. 

Though man trample on your sweetness 

I remember still; 
Let them thoughtlessly deface you, 

Soil you if they will; 

Memory shows me all the beauty 

That you used to wear; 
And I never can forget it 

Though downtrodden there. 



UNBORN. 

KINGS in their pride have bowed before him, 
And heads that boasted the circling bay; 
His name is rung in prayer and praises, 

His memory fades not day by day; 
With the wide world's sorrow and sin unworn, — 
The little baby that died unborn. 

When others fail us, when friends are faithless, 
When selfishness reigns like a king supreme, 

When we are weary of working, waiting. 

When heaven grows dimmer and love a dream, 

We think of that which can put to scorn 

Earth's losses, — the child that died unborn. 



The Golden Age. 115 

We can feel about us the dimpled fingers 

And dream how lovely that mouth had smiled; 

All we have failed of doing, being, 
Had lived again in that holy child; 

Heaven's grace had lightened a world forlorn 

Through life of the child that died unborn. 

Sum of such longing, such prayer, such passion! 

Hope of our failure, our wrong, our pain ! 
Dream that lifted many a burden. 

That speaks to us of eternal gain; 
Our angel, sin-untouched, untorn. 
The little baby that died unborn. 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 

THE golden age, of which such songs are sung! 
Its skies were blue with never-clouded light; 
Its west winds whispered of eternal springs, 
Its flowers blossomed beautiful and bright. 

And from its perfect skies the dews distilled 
Honey and nectar, and the birds sang gay 

The whole year round, while from the willing soil 
Fruits sprang, and streams in music flowed away. 



ii6 The Golden A^e. 

There love ruled law, for law was only love; 

There war came not, for harmony was kln^^. 
The golden age! not all in vain its praise, 

Not all a myth the glories poets sing. 

To every human heart some moments come 
When we catch glimpses of this Paradise; 

Swift gleams of light that flood our care-worn souls. 
Fast fading visions that refresh our eyes. 

Yes, there are moments when our souls grow strong, 
Uplifted from the daily toil and pain. 

The self-inflicted groveHng in the dust, 
And find the old primeval joy again. 

This is the golden time of which men tell; 

It dwells about us and within for aye. 
For in our higher moments it is ours. 

The soul's true home, where peace is law alway. 



SONNETS. 



IMMORTALITY. 

OSEA that makes this fragile boat a toy 
As if thou wouldst engulf it in thy might, 
While the wide winds wail forth their wild affright 
And struggle with thee like a lusty boy 
In arms! Time shall thy restless power destroy 
And thou be sunk in everlasting calms 
Within thy yellow sands; then pines and palms 
Above shall wave, and all this seeming joy 
Be stilled. Then shalt thou render up thy bones 

and gold 
And hidden cities; but when thou art gone 
As thou must go, exultant, powerful sea, 
Then shall this spirit freed from bondage old 
Walk radiant in the light of Heaven's dawn 
Triumphant in its immortality. 



I20 The Life Line. 



THE LIFE LINE. 

AS men in caves follow the slender thread 
That guides to light through the long, wind- 
ing way, 

Hoping the end will bring them to the day; 

So I have followed where my life-cord led; — 

The cord of destiny that led to light. 

Through crystal chambers lit by flickering fires, 

Through halls whose echoes wakened strange 
desires, 

By rushing waters, bounding through the night. 

I often questioned if the end were fair, 

And now upon my vision full and free 

Bursts the clear day. I breathe the warm, sweet air 

Of a new land that stretches to the sea. 

O, blessed fate! Dear heart, how did I dare 

To doubt what led to light and loye and thee ? 



Worldlviess. 121 



WORLDLINESS. 

LIFE'S petty labors move the heart too much. 
The soul spends precious gold to purchase dross ; 
We clasp some bauble close, forgetting loss 
Of heart-blood spent in gaining. And the touch 
Of dear loved hands; the scent of summer flowers; 
The silent, shining stars; the arch of rain 
Above a hill; our children's smiles, — are vain 
To move us, till we see they are not ours. 
No more, no more! This is the wizard's wand 
That changes all to gold. Oh! could we know 
The blessing of sweet moments as they go. 
The world would have less need of lock and band 
Against its evil. Envy, selfish fears 
Would be unknown as in pure childhood's years. 



122 TJie Coming of Love. 



THE COMING OF LOVE. 

WHO has not seen on a dull autumn day, 
The sun burst from some overhanging cloud, 
And noted how the gray world doffed its shroud 
And laughed like a young bride? How bright and 

gay 
The maple and the stunted sumachs burned. 
And some late robin dreaming it was spring 
Forgot his southern home and stopped to sing. 
So to the heart came love; its splendor turned 
The world to glory. I was glad before 
And life was beautiful; but now is thrown 
Love's golden gleaming on the world long known, 
Making it brighter than it was of yore; 
While old-time memories that once were sad 
Burst into song to make the heart more glad. 



Bravery. 1 23 



BRAVERY. 

CROWNS for the brave! Not brave as they who 
dare 
Wars, danger, death, but braver, nobler far. 
These outward tests of seeming valor are 
Little compared to what a life may bear. 
Comfort and self-protection, these oft scare 
The laggard soul to action, but the star 
That rules the brave need not be star of war. 
There is a bravery of soul, a strength to wear 
Unselfishly a burden; to endure 
Scandal and evil, curses from a world 
That should but bless; to keep one's faith unfurled 
Against a sneer; to keep the spirit pure 
Against temptation. This the bravery 
That taxes strength of heart and soul to be. 



124 Auhmm, 



AUTUMN. 

THE hazel tips that yellow in the light 
Along the border of the moss-grown wall 
Like gleaming threads of gold; the echoed call 
Of quail amid the rustling foliage bright; 
The sense of something lost, of past delight; 
These all are thine, O saddening Autumn! All 
That might have been or was, of great or small, 
Of grave or gay, presses upon the sight. 
The soul grows grave although it counts its gain- 
The gleanings of the summer of the heart — 
It is the summer we regret in vain, 
Which we have spent in toil. Deceitful art! 
That makes a glorious present seem but pain, 
While in the search for what must now depart. 



The Stronger Love. 125 



THE STRONGER LOVE. 

WHEN my soul glows beneath thy tender kiss; 
When faint from loving, all my heart lies bare 
Before thee, then thou sayest, ' ' Love is rare 
That is so very strong. ' ' Beloved, this 
Is not the strongest love. As they but miss 
The splendor of the Lord who seek him where 
The loudest chants break the cathedral's air, 
So he knows not love's purest, perfect bliss 
Who strives in outward signs its power to read. 
My strongest love is this, that wills to bear 
All shame and sorrow for thee; that at need 
Will serve thee, self- forgetting; that will dare 
All great things for thee, and in absence heed 
No other love, but live the vows I swear. 



126 In the Sandwich Burying- Ground. 



IN THE SANDWICH BURYING-GROUND. 

THE centuries which mark that grass-grown 
mound 
Have left no trace upon the heaving sea; 
The sky bends over, while most lovingly 
The summer winds caress it to sweet sound, 
Or winter's tempests make its waters bound 
Like living creatures full of ecstasy, 
Leaping and crouching, — ceaseless, changeless, free. 
The human heart as limitless, profound, 
Is like the sea's incessant ebb and flow 
Moving yet constant. Yonder crumbling stone 
That marks a grave will be at last laid low. 
But do the silent dead forget their own ? 
Filling the heart, love's full returning tide. 
In blessing flows from spirits glorified. 



In Port. 127 



IN PORT. 

COME closer to me! Let me feel your breath 
Wander upon my cheek and o'er my brow. 
As some lost sailor, watching from the prow 
Of his disabled ship, waiting for death, 
Feels the warm land breeze sweep across his face, 
Breathes the spiced air of some sweet isle and sees 
The flowers wave, hears the birds sing from trees 
Green and wide-spreading, feels new courage chase 
Despair away; — so in thy love I find 
Rest from the wandering fancies I have known; 
Peace for my unstilled longings. Let me bind 
My ship unto this tranquil shore to own 
This port as home; this harbor as the last; 
Here will I dwell in peace till life be past. 



128 Pussy- Willow. 



PUSSY-WILLOW. 

THE snow was deep and the air was chill 
When the willows waked this year; 
The skies were blue, the sun shone clear 
But the frost lay hard on plain and hill, 
When the blind, dumb sap began to thrill. 
When willows knew the spring was near, 
What matter if the snow lay drear ? 
They dreamed of leafy June, their will 
Feared not the cruel winter's might. 
The dumb, dark strivings of our heart — 
That wills to break its prison home. 
That knoweth somewhere there is light — 
Are like these silvery buds that start. 
Who says the summer shall not come ? * 



Waiting. 1 29 



WAITING. 

AND thou wert waiting for me all these years! 
While I have wept and prayed and laughed 
in glee: — 
A thought most wonderful ! Had I known thee, 
My prayers had not been needed, and my tears 
Had changed to smiles, and all my doubts and fears 
Would have been gladness, sadness, ecstasy. 
Dear friend, it was not best that this should be. 
As one who waits through darkness till he hears 
A guiding voice to lead him to the light, 
I sat beneath my pain. I would not take 
All gladness for that waiting; for the right 
Was with me, and I learned to trust, and make 
Out of the darkness, glory; and how bright 
Thy face was when at last love's dawn did break! 

K 



130 Helen of Troy. 



HELEN OF TROY. 

HELEN of Troy, hard was thy ruling fate! 
Woman for whom not only nations waged 
Long bloody war, but gods their wills engaged 
And stooping downward from their high estate 
Fought hand to hand upon the Trojan plains. 
Woman whose beauty was the sculptor's dream, 
Whose life has been a universal theme; 
What of thy heart, its pleasure and its pains ? 
Thou wert a woman only! and I read 
Between the lines the sorrows that were thine. 
Thy struggles to resist the tempter's snare. 
Ah! for thy weakness and thy love I plead; 
What counts to thee art's praise, or verse divine? 
Sin and thy country's curse thy doom to bear. 



The Wandering Minstrel. 131 



THE "WANDERING MINSTREL. 

LOVE, the wandering minstrel strays 
From door to door in strange disguise, 
His coming is a sweet surprise 
And thrills to joy life's darkest ways. 
His harp is gold and sweet the string 
For rich and poor, for high and low; 
Crowned monarchs to his music bow 
And pour red wine as to a king. 
The minstrel may not tarry late 
But in our hearts the song we bear, 
It beats and thrills; and echoing there 
Becomes our watchword and our fate; 
Death's mighty, trembling chord shall prove 
The deathlessness of human love. 



132 A May Evening. 



A MAY EVENING. 

A STAR that glimmers in the far-off gray 
Of evening air; the robin's fitful cry; 
The cherry trees whose snowy petals fly 
Like flocking birds; the smile of blooming May 
Lighting a tired world; while far away 
A single church bell tolls. Those who would hie 
From earth's dull round, find fairy-land may lie 
Close to the border of the work-a-day. 
A note, a tint, an odor, and the past 
Springs into life and glory undefiled. 
Woven about the present's gray-hued hours 
Gleameth a dreamland beautiful and vast, 
Where walks the spirit like a little child 
Filling its spotless hands with sunny flowers. 



The Illumined Page. 133 



THE ILLUMINED PAGE. 

FOND lover, pore above her upturned face 
As you would gaze on some illumined page; 
Some text revealing faith of a past age, 
Where on the margin, by an artist's grace, 
Gleam cherubs' faces, scrolls of blue and gold 
Twined with fair flowers that shall never fade; 
Illumined prayers that holy beings prayed. 
In mouldering monasteries, centuries old. 
But while you praise the beauty of such art 
Fail not to see the faith that lay behind; 
Think of the spirits that thus sought to bind 
God's grace and glory closer to the heart. 
So lover, reading love's illumined story. 
Behind it, own the "All-Love" whence comes 
love's glory. 



134 Spoken Love. 



SPOKEN LOVE. 

TELL me you love me, — once and yet again. 
Fear not my heart will ever weary grow 
Hearing the words. Too long I prayed to know 
The blest reverberation iDf that strain; 
The music of its flow is like the main 
That throbs and sings upon the waiting shore; 
We love its music ever more and more 
Waking or sleeping, in our joy or pain. 
Almighty Love, that beats upon the soul. 
Flood in, and sing through all the caverns steep f 
Over hot, sandy wastes thy billows roll; 
Up the parched rocks, oh ! let those breakers sweep ! 
Till blessed, refreshed, earth welcomes thy control. 
Held in the grasp of the eternal deep ! 



A B as -Relief. 135 



A BAS-RELIEF. 

CUT out against the gray of winter's sky, 
In bas-relief, great Titian's head in stone. 
The winds about the cornice sob and moan, 
And men below in shivering groups go by. 
The snows, like pure, white mantles outspread lie. 
The head of Titian watches there alone 
Scenes from the great life-drama once his own; 
While there for rest the storm-worn sparrows fly. 
A nook for sparrows in a stormy day! 
A name men seldom speak their whole life long! 
Is this what comes of honor, glory, fame ? 
Is this the end ? Who wise enough to say ? 
These the fair laurels that to fame belong, 
A rest for storm-tired birds, a hollow name ? 



136 November. 



NOVEMBER. 

LUSH summer had her lavish treasure hurled 
On grove, and glade, and garden all abloom; 
When by the roadside — prophecy of doom — 
The banner of the golden-rod unfurled. 
Then suddenly we saw that haze was curled 
About the hills; first missed the song and boom 
Of bird and bee, and poppies' faint perfume; 
Expectant and a-listening seemed the world. 
Then here and there, a yellow leaf behold; 
The woodbine dropped a ruby on the sod: 
Sumach and maple burnt to red and gold: 
While purple asters offered praise to God; 
Now on a world of fallen leaves and brown. 
The bleak November rains are pelting down. 



Love and Absence, 137 



LOVE AND ABSENCE. 

ONCE where sweet Love roved through a valley- 
fair 
Toying with flowers, listening to the bird 
That sang his praise — songs only Love has heard 
Or ever understands — he wandered where 
The giant Absence kept his fearful court. 
He was the young god's deepest, deadliest foe; 
But Love feared not his legions: Doubt and Woe 
He slew; and climbing up the towering fort, 
Entered the castle, and there faced its lord; 
The power of Absence vanished at the sight: 
Trembling the monarch met the dazzling light 
Of the god's smile, and threw aside his sword. 
When Cupid drew his bow, lo! at his feet 
Absence lay dead, — Love's' triumph was complete. 



138 The Cautious Hand. 



THE CAUTIOUS HAND. 

AS those who journey slowly in the night, 
Bearing a lighted lamp to find the way, 
Still forward reach a cautious hand, lest they 
Should stumble on some object hid from sight, 
And do them harm, I bear thy love with me, 
A shining glory that all men may know. 
The glooms of life shrink back before its glow 
And I walk safely; by thy love I see: 
Yet forward reach out still a cautious hand. 
Into the dimness of the great Unknown; 
Searching the path of one who dwells in day. 
But walks in shadow none may understand. 
In the love-light my soul, thy soul doth own; 
While in the outer gloom God leads the way. 



Life's Gold. 139 



LIFE'S GOLD. 

WITHIN her chamber in the solemn night, 
My soul, a miser, counted out her gold. 
Her hoard of rich experience, wealth untold 
By all save her; — memories dark and bright 
From the dead past, whose ghosts rose still and white 
Asking their own. Ghosts that I once made bold 
To name my sorrows, but long since enrolled 
Among the blest, wreathing their names in light. 
Then through the darkness came a step, O Love! 
All-conquering power! so he found me there 
Amid my treasures; all the wealth that years 
Had given my soul; and as he bent above 
With countenance all radiantly fair, 
I knew for this were coined life's smiles and tears. 



140 A Wish. 



A WISH. 

I LOVE you. Every morn my waking thought 
Is this. And as the sun dispelled the mist 
That purpled all the hills to amethyst; 
Lighted the valleys into joy, and wrought 
A splendor on the sea; waked the birds long 
Stilled in sleep; opened the glad buds wet with dew 
Into rich blooms; so does your loving woo 
My heart to blossom and my soul to song, 
And make my morn of life supremely bright. 
O, heart, dear heart! go with me through Hfe's day! 
Noon fast approaches — noon, whose flowers are 
The consummation of morn's pledged delight. 
And when that glory shall have died away, 
And night comes on, your love be evening star! 



Hero. 141 



HERO. 

WHY weep fair Hero, on the Thracian shore ? 
Is he not true ? Although his hand is cold 
It is in yours. His love will not grow old: 
You have him now and can you ask for more ? 
Cease then in tears your sorrow to outpour: 
His last and dying thought was all for you ; 
To your sweet kiss his lips were ever true, 
And he has come at last, as oft before. 
Oh! better far, fair Hero, this cold face, 
These icy Hps, these unresponsive eyes; 
Oh! better far this death in love and youth 
When life is full of purity and grace, 
Than blasted hopes, and doubts, and living lies, 
Than life with broken faith and base untruth. 



142 Dawji. 



DAWN. 

ALL the last night sweet slumber fled my eyes; 
I watched the stars climb up the eastern steep 
And sink down, down into the western deep 
In glittering groups. I heard the soft winds rise 
And gently sing, as mothers croon a song 
Above their babes; I heard the waters moan 
Upon the shore, like an old love outgrown 
And left behind, weeping above its wrong. 
Then through the stillness of the cool, sweet night 
Burst a full flood of song from some glad bird 
That waking, thought of love, or dreaming heard 
His mate's voice calling, — slowly broke the light 
Over the hills. Thus with a burst of song 
Comes dawn of love to hearts that waited long. 



A Mission. 143 



A MISSION. 

1 DREAMED in childhood of a mighty trust 
The Lord had given my spirit to fulfill; 
A holy mission that the world would thrill 
To know of, — and I prayed, as true souls must, 
To be made worthy such a high decree. 
My prayers are answered now, — I know the fate 
That led me, — know my proud and high estate ;- 
It is to love and be beloved by thee. 
No greater mission now my soul desires 
Than to bestow on thee that joy thou deem'st 
Impossible, — to make the dreams thou dream' st 
Realities, — to light the deep heart-fires 
Of aspiration, till thy soul shall rise 
And sing with mine in the eternal skies. 



144 '^^^^ Evenhig Star. 



THE EVENING STAR. 

WHEN day departs, dying amid his glory, 
His wealth of gold, his crimson flags and 
shields; 
When his last smile illumines woods and fields 
And mountains purple with the after-story; 
Before the memory of his strength is gone; 
While all the heavens are glowing, tremulous 
Rises the evening star, fair Hesperus, 
Daughter of Day, heir of his world and throne. . 
Behind a cloud she hides her presence bright. 
As if still mourning Day's departed grace; 
While tears of dew fall down the deeps of night, 
Bathing each flower's prayerful, upturned face. 
Nature in silence mourns the god of light, — 
That princely offspring of immortal race. 



Love' s Images. 145 



LOVE'S IMAGES. 

WITHIN your hands, my life is like soft clay 
Moulded at will, — or better, like the snow 
Of marble, that in Athens long ago 
Was beaten to such glorious form, to-day 
Bespeaking honor for those eastern climes. 
Your life beats on the marble of my heart: 
Oh, strike with care! let every blow have art 
Of love and reverence. As in those old times 
Beyond the seas, were wrought with wondrous skill 
Loves, demons, angels, saints; so may your hand 
Dear sculptor Love, make what you will; may fill 
A heart's white temple, beautiful and grand 
With base or holy figures. In each nave 
May put a god, a demon, saint or slave. 



1 46 Rescued. 



RESCUED. 

LIKE a belated traveler in the snow 
I wandered, jostled to and fro by wind 
Of doubt and fear; and having half a mind 
To lay me down nor farther strive to go. 
When suddenly our distant pathways met: 
You did not stop for counsel wise and vain 
But took my heart half numb with cold and pain 
Into the warmth of yours: my heart you set 
Within the open doorway of your life, 
In the warm glow of your all-sheltering love. 
Since then I dwell where rush and turmoil cease: 
Facing the bitter weather never rove; 
Here shines love's radiance, and all stormy strife 
Sounds dim and distant; here I touch God's peace. 



Beyond. • 147 



BEYOND. 

ONLY a little farther I must go, 
Then sloping fields of flowers pure and white 
And mountain peaks bathed in eternal light 
Will meet my eyes, grown weary with the show 
And mockery of life, its gloom and glow; 
Its race for fame, its feeble strife for right. 
Its curling petals with the heart of blight. 
Its summer glory changing into snow. 
And when these weary feet have touched the land 
Whose nearing border dimly I behold, 
Shall I there find life's fitful fair ideal 
That led me onward ? Better understand 
The meaning. of the story life has told? 
Know that which is, from that which is unreal ? 



148 Cicero' s Dream. 



CICERO'S DREAM* 

HIGH up among the stars great Cicero stood. 
Harmony perfect fell upon his ears, 
The soft and mellow music of the spheres 
Blent with the praises of the great and good. 
Dead Africanus, Paulus' mighty sire, 
Taught him the laws that light the star-strown skies; 
Showed him the wonders that from human eyes 
Forever hidden are: but still desire 
Fixed on one tiny spot his eager gaze 
Where, least among the many balls of light, 
The earth hung, glowing beautiful and bright, 
A fiery point in the unending maze. 
Ah! though the universe below him moves 
His thoughts are but of earth, for there his loves. 

* Longfellow's Dante (Notes) page 229. 



Since \ou Came. 149 



B 



SINCE YOU CAME. 

EFORE you came I loved these wooded hills, 
This willow-bordered stream, where in the 
spring 
The bluebirds woo their feathered mates to sing 
Among the yellow catkins. Ever thrills 
My heart with joy, when by these laughing rills 
I hear the oriole call; and watch how white 
The sailing clouds are mirrored in the bright 
Clear pools. Here beauty all my doubts and longings 

stills 
When I remember thus God can let fall 
His image in the heart that is at rest. 
But since you came, since your love lendeth all 
A newer beauty, how divinely blest 
Am I! Yet, my beloved, where you call 
I come; with you earth's worst place were the best. 



150 A Rejected Lover's Thought. 



A REJECTED LOVER'S THOUGHT. 

ONE moment I have held her to my breast 
And looked within her deep and tender eyes; 
Have seen the hot tears all unbidden rise, 
Tears for my sorrow, for love's vain request. 
Just for a moment I have felt her lips 
Rest on my forehead, and henceforth I bear 
The memory of that kiss imprinted there: 
Just for a moment did her finger-tips 
Caress my cheek, and linger as they fell. 
Now we are parted, but she knows my heart: 
Another claims her; but to dwell apart 
I am content. She understands me well; 
And, deep within her soul, I know will be 
A tenderness, if not a love for me. 



Me7nory. 15^ 



MEMORY. 

EARTH'S memories pass like sands that run 
the hour: 
The name of Homer and of Shakespeare too, 
Shall sometime be forgotten like the dew 
That rested yester-morn upon a flower. 
We need not hope our lives can gain a power 
That shall endure, not even for a day. 
The fondest friends when we have passed away 
Laugh though they love. Forgetfulness ! The dower 
Life gives us when we wed his oflspring Death. 
What would we better than that men forget ? 
Ay, but the soul has memory, and must bear 
The trace of earthly life: the body's breath 
Ls yielded, but the soul, when time has set, 
Marks of defeat or victory shall wear. 



EARLY POEMS. 



THE SNOW. 

FOLDING the earth in its mantle 
Pure and undefiled, 
Soft in its own clear whiteness 

As the cheek of an innocent child, 
The snow o'er the world is faUing, 

It floats upon the air, 
Silent, yet ever restless, 

As a child's hands crossed in prayer. 

Like a benediction descending 

O'er the sin-stained weary world, 
It falls in tender pity. 

Its mantle o' er all unfurled. 
Oh, Father in Heaven above us. 

Thy goodness and Thy love 
Descend like a silent spirit, 

Like a pure and spotless dove. 

This world is a myst'ry of sorrow, 
And dark with sin and woe; 

Over its toil and sadness 

Thy mantle of mercy throw. 



156 Soaring Bird. 

Fold us about, protect us 

In Thy garment, spotless white, 

As the snow in its silent falling 
Is shrouding the earth to-night. 



SOARING BIRD. 

A GLAD bird singing soars into the blue. 
From yonder upward flight, 
In summer's golden light. 
How seems the world to you ? 
How looks its toil and care from higher view ? 

Does life from up above (so God must see) 

Look changed ? A gleaming bow 

Over life's rain clouds glow ? 

Hark how that song rings free: — 

Glad, soaring bird that sees farther than we! 



Solace in Death, 157 



SOLACE IN DEATH. 

ONE summer day in idle mood 
I hung above the time-worn beam 
Of an old bridge that spanned a stream 
Which hurried through a lovely wood. 

The brook in music flowed away; 

Above my head the white clouds curled; 

And down below another world 
Of clouds and leaves that sleeping lay. 

I never dreamed the world so fair; 
I longed to join the wild bird's song, 
I longed with him to sweep along 

The liquid, perfume-laden air. 

I filled my soul with the sweet grace 
Of roses — fresh they were and bright: 
So perfect that it seemed the light 

Of God was in each upturned face. 

Bewildered I beheld them fall: 

The stream received them in its might, 
And bore them swiftly out of sight, 

Leaving my lips in vain to call, — 



158 Solace i?i Death. 

" Come back sweet roses, come again! " 
I held my hands across the tide: 
But oh ! the distance grew more wide, 

And I was filled with childish pain. 

The bright day did not seem so bright; 

The little wood-birds ceased their glee; 

The world was not the same to me; 
And sunset faded into night. 

They did not fade as others do, — 
My roses: and I love to dream 
How fair they floated on the stream, 

Though such a grief to lose them so. 

Their perfume did not die away, 
Their glory never ashen grew; 
They only passed beyond my view 

A part of that sweet summer day. 

And often since as I have laid 
Life's withered roses on the tomb 
Of buried hopes; fair visions come 

Oi those sweet flowers that did not fade; 

But passed to where I could not see. 
I know it is some brighter place. 
Because my roses lend a grace 

This world has lacked since then for me. 



June' s Secret 159 



JUNE'S SECRET. 

EARTH has a secret which trees know so well, 
They whisper and sigh ; 
The robin is merry to tell, 

He shouts it on high, 
Hear him there, as he sings in the blossoming dell. 

The mocking bird told, that garrulous bird 

That laughs as he trills 
All news that he ever has heard ; 

Each love song that fills 
The breasts of his bird friends ; he mimics each word. 

Now what is the secret ? the hovering bee 

Is telling the rose; 
He's a true busy-body, you see. 

As every bloom knows. 
And they say that a honey-tongued flatterer is he. 

The butterfly bearing the secret flew 

To lilies at morn. 
There to gather the fresh, early dew; 

The lilies would scorn 
Any gossip; their hearts are so spotless and true. 



i6o June' s Secret. 

Knowing the secret the daisies are gay, 

They gleam in the Hght. 
While the buttercups laugh by the way: 

And caraway white 
In the shade of the willow-tree dances all day. 

Words cannot tell you the secret. But go, 

In June's early prime, 
Lie where the blossoming grasses grow 

And hear what they chime: 
They can never be still and will tell all they know. 

It lies in the life of mortals to feel, 

When the secret they hear, 
All the joy that sweet June can reveal: 

But the soul must have ear, 
And the heart to the Love of the universe kneel. 



Al Noiih Coinoay. i6i 



AT NORTH CONWAY. 

I HAVE not seen how soft the light 
Feills on the waves of Southern seas; 
A dream to me, the flowing Rhine, 

A dream, the sunUt Pyrenees; 
And how the Hngering sunbeams glow 
On Alpine heights, I do not know. 

But here the autumn colors burn 

In golden glory overhead; 
The maple and the sumach turn 

A miracle of glorious red; 
And on the mountains, towering high, 
The autumn's purple mantles lie. 

The Saco, winding from the hills, 

Through forests deep, and dark and green, 
Reflects the blue of arching skies, 

Gleaming the woodland rifts between; 
Or ripples forth its lovely tale, 
Through the broad Conway Intervale, 

Where ready stacked in yellow groups, 
Waiting the huskers' busy hands, 



1 62 Lost June. 

Rustling with every passing breeze, 

The ripe corn's golden harvest sitands; 
And rich the yield of orchard trees 
As apples of Hesperides. 

Oh! who can sigh for Southern lands, 
Breathing this air like sparkling wine, 

Sweeter than any vintage, pressed 

From far-famed Rhineland's clustering vine ? 

For foreign lands, ah! who can sigh 

While near at hand such beauties lie ? 



LOST JUNE. 

TELL me have you seen a maiden, 
Dainty maiden, trip this way? 
Hair like sunshine, eyes like sapphire. 
Forehead like the dawn of day. 

She is merry, mild and gentle, 

Oh! so wonderfully fair. 
Roses pink and white and crimson 

Woven in her sunny hair. 



Lost June. 163 

And her voice is soft and bird-like; 

Joyous is her flowing song. 
Light! her feet scarce bend the grasses 

As she gaily trips along. 

When she came the daisies wakened 

Into fullest life and love; 
And the harebells stole their color 

From the skies that bent above. 

Hark! the robin in the twilight 

Sings his evening song alone; 
For the blue eggs in the linden, 

Finding life and wing, have flown. 

Softly sings, as sings my spirit 

A half sad, half merry tune. 
Sad because the roses wither, — 

Sad that I have lost sweet June. 



164 To My Sister in Heaven. 



TO MY SISTER IN HEAVEN. 

* ' T T AVE you a sister ? ' ' strangers question me. 

11 I answer * * No. ' ' But in my heart the while 
I hold the picture of a gentle face, 

A crown of golden curls, a heavenly smile. 

Dear sister! none the less my sister now 
Because I miss you in my earthly home, 

I cannot doubt that you are still to me 

All you had been, had Heaven not bid you come. 

Though you are pure from earthly stain and scar, 
Though you have grown to heights far, far above 

My loftiest dream; though angel, and most fair, 
You still must feel and own your sister-love. 

Death could not cheat me of that deep heart-joy. 

My hands have never lain in yours; my lips 
Have never rested on your face, my hair 

Has never felt your gentle finger-tips: 

But still, dear sister, though I often long 
To feel, to hear, to question, and to see; 

I know that you are sister none the less. 
And just as near and just as dear to me. 



May. 165 



MAY. 

A WHITE shower falls from the apple tree, 
Good-bye, good-bye, sweet May! 
I will not mourn at beauty lost, 

For there comes as fair a day; 
But such a wealth of sweets is thine. 
Such blooms of flower and spray, 
We can but sigh that gaining June, 
We still must lose our May. 

Only for once in the whole long year 

Are the trees so robed in bloom ; 
Only for once the lilac flowers 

Yield up such rare perfume; 
Only for once the birds sing forth 

A melody so gay; 
The sweetest promise of the year 

Comes with the flowers of May. 

We dream of these days through the winter long. 

When dreary lies the snow, 
And picture forth what joys were ours 

In the Mays of long ago; 



1 66 May. 

But when the time brings forth the bloom 
From the buds of leaf and spray, 

We find our loveliest dreams were vain 
To show the sweets of May. 

And waking morn, with golden sun, ' 

Is filled with gladdest sound. 
The chords of music seem to thrill 

Along the very ground, 
For insect life awakes and moves 

To join the roundelay 
That breaks along the happy earth 

In the fair time of May. 

Our hearts forget from year to year 

How pink the apple bloom, 
We cannot carry in our mind 

Such wealth of rich perfume; 
At every step we feel surprise 

At the glory of the day, 
And wonder if the world has been 

As fair in every May. 

But time has in its bosom much 

To give for our delight. 
There is a promise in the flower 

So beautiful and white. 



May. 167 

The green fields mean a fair, rich yield 

When spring has passed away, 
And the birds will know a deeper joy 

Than comes to them in May. 

Fall down, fall down, oh! shower of white 

And make the ground like snow, 
For underneath those petals fair 

The fruit is hid, I know. 
And hasten on, oh! golden sun, 

There's joy with every day. 
Our world would not be half as rich 

If life could be all May. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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